Fast Times at Beacon Hills Academy
by cestlavie0919
Summary: When Derek Hale becomes the headmaster of the prestigious Beacon Hills Academy, the staff revolts. He has to fire and replace several teachers and has a hard time finding a Theater teacher. Enter Stiles Stilinski. He's completely opposite from what Derek is looking for, but he takes a chance and hopes he won't regret that decision...
1. Chapter 1

Steven Prescott was a very serious man. He was short, portly, balding, and insisted on wearing his moustache in such a way that at first glance, he could be easily mistaken for a walrus. He never married and there was really only one human being who could say with any degree of certainty that he was "friends" with Mr. Prescott.

As Headmaster of the prestigious Beacon Hills Academy, Mr. Prescott was both feared and respected. Like everything else in his life, Mr. Prescott took his job as an educator _very_ seriously Those who graduated from Beacon Hills Academy often went on to study at Harvard, MIT, Yale, Oxford, and McGill. The students' parents paid great sums of money to give their kids that extra competitive edge. The teachers believed Mr. Prescott to be God's gift to their profession. The students joked that he was 'as serious as a heart attack' which made his death as ironic as it was tragic.

When the board of governors met to select a new headmaster, they wanted someone who would take the position as seriously as Mr. Prescott had. They chose someone who had a very personal connection to the school. The library bore his last name, since his ancestor was the founder of the academy. And if anyone asked, it was most certainly _**not**_ related to the fact that the new headmaster's uncle had recently established an endowment that funded several scholarships to aid students whose families couldn't afford the more than $30,000 price tag that accompanied an education at the academy.

The teachers whom he now supervised didn't look at the fact that he had a Ph.D. in English Literature and wrote _the_ definitive analysis of lupine lore in literature throughout the history of mankind. They also ignored his time as a professor at U.C. Berkley. All they saw was a young man with a famous name and a famously large bank account who was selected to run the academy over teachers who had spent their entire careers in its hallowed halls. From the very first day, Derek Hale was fighting an uphill battle.

The teachers of the Academy seemed to be declaring war. Dress codes weren't being enforced. As Derek walked through the halls, he was issuing demerits left and right. It took several days to figure out the source of insurrection, but he traced it to the theater teacher, Mrs. Costa, who was actually offering extra credit for those who were purposely breaking the rules. This led to Derek both firing Mrs. Costa (much to the ire of the other teachers) and outright banning the use of extra credit.

Upon hearing that their colleague of 20 years had been removed, five more teachers openly defied the rules, forcing Derek to fire them as well. Derek ended up having six positions to fill and not a lot of time to do it.

He had no hard time finding applicants to fill the open science, math, English, and social science positions. Derek was able to substitute teach English as he needed, but finding the replacement theater teacher proved very difficult.

As he sat at his desk, his seventh cup of coffee was getting perilously low. He filtered through the online applications, hoping to see one pop up for the still vacant theater position. School had been out for several hours by this point and Derek was exhausted. He turned out the light to his office and went home.

The next day, he pulled up the applications, hoping to go through them with fresh eyes. Three cups of coffee later, he found an application for the theater position. As he read the resume, he couldn't help but to be impressed. The applicant held a Bachelor's in Fine Arts from UC Irvine, a Master's in Dramatic Writing from the Carnegie Mellon School of Drama, and a Theater and Performance Studies Ph.D. from UCLA. He had written several screen plays as well as stage productions, and had a lot of experience with directing large performances. Derek was practically tripping over himself to reach for the phone and set up an interview.

Suddenly, it was like he was walking on air. The pressure of having to fill the position was slowly waning. And since the applicant was the only one… he was likely to get the position by default, then Derek could go back to focusing on making sure the academy lived up to its reputation.

The morning of the interview, Derek was ecstatic. The problematic open position was to be filled and life could go back to normal. "Dr. Hale, your appointment is here for you," the secretary said, peeking her head into his office.

"Send him in!" he replied cheerfully.

The man who walked into his office was nothing like what he had imagined. He was wearing paint-stained cloth sneakers. His plaid shirt was wrinkled and poorly matched the wrinkled khaki pants he chose to wear with them. Derek had to control his reaction to the man's choice of clothing, deciding to come up with redeemable qualities about him from first glance. He had pale skin, dotted with the occasional mole, wildly tousled sex hair, huge brown eyes, and beautiful pink lips that parted ever so slightly as he smiled. Derek sat up straight in his chair, trying to shake out the problematic thoughts that were working their way through his mind. "Good morning!" the applicant said cheerfully.

Derek cleared his throat. "Umm. Good morning," he replied stiffly, shuffling through his papers. "Welcome to Beacon Hills Academy."

"Thanks! I'm so glad you called me for the interview!" the applicant responded brightly.

"I apologize… I'm having a hard time figuring out how to pronounce your first name," Derek said, reading over the resume.

"Oh, just call me Stiles. My mom wanted to give me a traditionally Polish name to honor my family's ancestry. Nobody has been able to pronounce it my entire life," he said, smiling.

"Oh, okay, Stiles. So what interested you in the Academy?" Derek asked.

Stiles reclined in his chair, an awestruck look falling over his face. "This Academy has history. It's an honor, really. When I saw this position open up, I jumped at the opportunity!"

"What do you think you can bring to the Academy as a faculty member?"

Stiles smiled. "I've taught theater for six years at the college level. I've written and produced three stage productions as well as a few screenplays. And I want to inspire a love of the theater and its history. I've had a great time studying theater, and I hope I can inspire at least one of my students to want to continue studying it!"

Derek was satisfied with that answer. As he continued asking questions, the two men ventured around the school. Based on the way he acted, Derek was quite hesitant, actually, to hire Stiles. He seemed diametrically opposite of nearly every image Derek had for a teacher at the Academy. In the end, it was the necessity to fill the position that made him ultimately choose to offer Stiles the position.

"Thank you so much!" Stiles exclaimed, trying not to literally jump for joy at the offer.

"Oh, and Stiles?" Derek said before the two men parted.

"Yes sir?"

"The Academy has a strict dress code for both the students _and_ the staff. When I see you tomorrow, I'd like for you to be in compliance with it."

Stiles grinned. "Of course, Dr. Hale."

* * *

The next morning, Derek had a full schedule. There was a meeting with the Board of Governors, a few disciplinary meetings with students, and by the time his schedule was clear, there were only two class periods left. He decided to see how his newest faculty member was doing on his first day.

The Theater classroom was attached to the Auditorium located in the newest part of the campus. There was a projection room that allowed Derek to very easily spy and as he watched, he became rather dismayed. Stiles looked like a bum. He was sporting yet another wrinkled shirt what was half tucked into pale green jeans. The black Converse shoes matched well with the thin black tie Stiles was wearing loosely around his neck, not even tucked under the collar of the shirt.

"Alright. So this is Beginning Dramatic Arts. Seems kind of odd that I teach Advanced, then Intermediate, then Beginning… but I didn't come up with the schedule so whatever. You guys can call me Stiles. 'Professor Stilinski' or 'Dr. Stilinski' sounds too stuffy and 'Mr. Stilinski' was my father. So just call me Stiles. Can anyone tell me what your previous teacher had you working on?"

A young woman raised her hand and Stiles called on her. "Mrs. Costa had us studying Elizabethan Theatre as well as memorizing the first three scenes of Shakespeare's Othello."

Stiles feigned a yawn. "That's really effing boring," he said. "Feel free to use your copy of Othello as kindling." There was a collective gasp from both Derek and the students. "Hey… don't get me wrong. Bill was a great dude… but Othello has just been so overdone. Let's study something fun! Sure, we're gonna look at the history of the theater, but if I see one Shakespeare book in my classroom, I'm giving whomever is holding said book a week's worth of detention."

Another student raised his hand. "Umm sir… then what _are_ we going to study?"

"Good question!" Stiles responded, grabbing a piece of chalk and writing the words "1990s Musical Theater" on his chalkboard. "The Drama classes will be working together to put on _RENT_. It's a Pulitzer Prize winning play by the talented, late Jonathan Larson. This play defined a generation of people living in the place where dreams were supposed to come true… but their friends and family were dying around them and an unsympathetic government was doing little if anything to help with the epidemic of HIV and AIDS."

"Isn't that a little inappropriate for a high school?" one student asked.

"If this were public high school… probably. But this is Beacon Hills Academy. You are quite possibly the future leaders of the free world and if you can't stomach a play written about a very sad reality of our history… then we have far larger problems to deal with," Stiles replied. "But now for the boring housekeeping stuff: I'm pretty easy to get along with. Your grade will come from the effort I see you putting forth in both the production of _RENT_ and in general in my class. I want everyone to perform at least one solo musical number, one solo monologue, and two duets. The duets can be either spoken dialogues or a musical number. But it must all come from a play that speaks to you personally."

A student Derek knew to be a troublemaker stood up. "I'm not singing. That's gay."

Suddenly, Derek felt bad for not warning Stiles that in the Academy, the professor must maintain absolute control. It looked as though Stiles was going to learn that lesson the hard way.

"I'm sorry… what is your name?" Stiles asked.

"Cooper."

"Well, Cooper. That brings me to the next manner of business. From this point on, I want it well known that in my classroom and in my presence; disrespect toward anyone for any reason will not be tolerated. To help you learn that lesson, I want you to write a ten page paper about the history of homosexuality in the theater. I think you might find Elizabethan theater quite eye-opening," Stiles said. Derek found himself impressed by that choice of punishment. "I want it single-spaced and size 8 font, by the way. Two weeks should be enough time, don't you think?"

"That's not fair!" Cooper complained.

Stiles approached him, leaning down so that his face was inches away from the student's. He began to recite in perfect rhythm a passage Derek immediately recognized from _The Merchant of Venice._

"The quality of mercy is not strained.  
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven  
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed:  
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.  
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes  
The thronèd monarch better than his crown.  
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,  
The attribute to awe and majesty  
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings,  
But mercy is above this sceptered sway.  
It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings.  
It is an attribute to God himself.  
And earthly power doth then show likest God's  
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Cooper, Though justice be thy plea, consider this-  
That in the course of justice none of us  
Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy,  
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render  
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much  
To mitigate the justice of thy plea,  
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice  
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there."

"What does that even mean?" Cooper demanded.

"I expect an annotation of that passage from _Merchant of Venice_ to be handed in with your paper. I believe this will be a very informational year for you, Mr. Cooper," Stiles said before returning his attention to the rest of the class. "And if anyone else makes a disrespectful comment, I'll see to it that the assignment Mr. Cooper just received is a pittance in comparison. Am I understood?"

The rest of the class was spent with exercises in acting. When the bell finally rang, Derek made an appearance. Stiles had sixth period free for planning, so the conversation was likely to be uninterrupted by students. "Bravo, Dr. Stilinski," he said smiling.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Hale," Stiles replied, erasing the board and writing down a memo so that he didn't actually forget the extra work he'd assigned the disrespectful little shit.

"That was a very creative way you dealt with Cooper," Derek said. "I'm quite impressed. If you have any more trouble from him, I assure you that he's no stranger to my office."

"Thank you," Stiles replied.

"So as impressed as I was, I would be remiss to ignore your attire. Could you please try to dress a little more…"

"Like you?"

"Well, I was going to say professional… but that works too, I guess," Derek chuckled. His eyes lingered on Stiles' jawline, which seemed to be chiseled by the gods themselves.

"Out of curiosity, do you spy on all the teachers on their first day or did you make a special dispensation for me?" Stiles asked. Derek had a hard time discerning whether or not Stiles was intrigued or offended by it.

"I run a very tight ship. I'm not an administrator who will be staying in my office. I'll be popping into classrooms as time permits all year long. Don't worry. I'm not singling you out," Derek assured him.

The teacher cracked a coy smile. "Well damn… I thought that maybe I might be special."

The flirtatious tone in his voice was too much for Derek, who turned on his heels, heading for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Dr. Stilinski."

"Tomorrow is Saturday, sir. So unless you're inviting me to do something with you, I think that perhaps you'll be sorely disappointed," Stiles replied playfully.

Derek stopped in his tracks. This back and forth was wrong. He'd never done anything like this before. "Then Monday it is. And please… try not to look like you slept on a bench when you come in."

"I'll do my best, sir. Enjoy your weekend."

* * *

**A/N**: Thank you for reading! This prompt was given to me by the amazing SexySourAlpha on the Archive of Our Own and if you haven't read his work... re-evaluate your life choices and go do that right now! Agrusahale is my amazing beta reader. Please let me know what you thought of the first chapter! I'll be updating again soon!


	2. Chapter 2

As Derek got comfortable in his favorite chair at home, he thought about the problem he had inadvertently created for himself. He couldn't question that Stiles had a talent for teaching dramatic arts, and that he'd been the only applicant for the position, but Derek wasn't convinced that Stiles was the best fit for the Academy. There was also the little problem of the fact that Derek found himself undeniably and inexplicably attracted to him.

It drove Derek crazy because Stiles seemed to be chaos personified. Every detail about him contrasted violently with Derek's serious, straight-laced nature. Even in his own house, not a single thing was out of place. Derek liked keeping everything in his life neat, orderly, and predictable. So why, then, was he so attracted to this train wreck?

A knock at the door snapped him back to reality. He quickly answered it, relieved to see that it was only his uncle, Peter. "You look like you've been through hell," Peter chuckled, observing his nephew.

"These past few weeks have been rough," Derek admitted, inviting his uncle in.

"It's a shame you don't drink," Peter said, choosing a spot on the couch as Derek slunk back into his chair. "A nice, cold beer can do wonders for a problem like yours."

"Uncle Peter, I'm exhausted… why are you here?" Derek asked, not intending to sound rude, but he hadn't planned on guests and he truly just wanted to watch some TV and then go to bed.

Peter answered his question with a question. "How is that new theater teacher working out?"

"Today was his first day… hard to tell just yet," Derek replied. "But I don't think he'll last."

"Why not?"

"He's not Beacon Hills Academy material. He's too relaxed. He dresses like a homeless person. He actually told his class he'd assign detention to people who were reading Shakespeare in his room," Derek replied.

"I have to wonder why you hired him in the first place," Peter pointed out.

"Why are you bringing this up at all?" Derek asked. It seemed odd to him that Peter would venture all the way over, just to mount an interrogation into his hiring practices.

"Just curious," Peter lied.

"I'm too tired to argue it with you. But believe me, I've got everything under control. The Academy will resume normal operations and those unwilling to follow the rules will suffer the consequences," Derek said groggily.

"Rule with an iron fist," Peter replied with a wink. "I'll show myself out."

Derek had the sinking suspicion that Peter was up to something, but decided to try tackling that problem after a long night's sleep. He locked the front door, set the coffee pot timer, then trudged upstairs. His bed looked so inviting as he set out his clothes for the next day, seeing that they needed to be ironed. He could have kicked himself for not having done it earlier. Against his character, he opted to go to bed and deal with that chore later.

As he slept, he began to dream... About the Academy. He was standing outside the theater classroom watching as Stiles finished his last lesson of the day. He knew that this spying was wrong, but as he tried to walk away, he found that no matter which direction he went, Stiles was there. His unkempt clothing hung baggily off his thin frame as he beckoned for Derek to approach him.

Derek did his best to find another way to get back to his office, using hallways and back rooms no one else knew about. Still, Stiles would be standing there with his messy hair and his supple, fuckable lips. Derek grew tired of fighting it, so he finally gave into temptation and approached the young teacher. The moment their lips met, Derek was startled as a loud bang filled the room. Winds swept around him in a violent frenzy. He watched helplessly as a tornado touched down, demolishing the school he worked so hard to get back on track.

Derek sat straight up in his bed, sweat dripping from his body as he panted for breath. He quickly threw on some sweat pants and a t-shirt and hopped in his car, needing to make sure that the Academy was still in one piece.

As he pulled into the parking lot, the school seemed eerie in the still night air. The dream had been so realistic, that he didn't even feel silly for driving all the way out there in the middle of the night. It wasn't until he realized that he'd driven all the way out there in the middle of the night because of a dream about Stiles that he suddenly felt not just silly… but downright insane. "What is it about this guy?" he asked out loud.

When he got back home, he made some chamomile tea to help calm him down before he fell back to sleep. This time, however, he dreamt about wolves instead of sexy, slovenly theater teachers.

* * *

Derek decided to impose a Stiles-free weekend. He spent several hours at the gym, listening to a few of his favorite arias while he worked out. After, he returned home and watched a baseball game and spot-cleaned the grout in his kitchen with an old toothbrush.

He enjoyed solitary life. He never had to worry about things not being where he last put them (which were always in their proper places) and he didn't have to worry about other people's bad habits.

When his thoughts would inevitably creep in the direction of those lips he wanted to part with his tongue, he forced himself to think of other things… dreadful things. Like the mildew he needed to clean from the corner of the bathtub.

He forced himself to work on any little task that could possibly come to mind, rather than think about Stiles. This meant that by Saturday's end, he was thoroughly exhausted, and completely out of tasks to fill up Sunday.

Luckily, Peter called and asked if he wanted to get lunch and go see a movie, so he gladly accepted. It did the job and he spent several hours just causally conversing with his uncle instead of thinking about Stiles.

When he got back home, he decided to call it an early day, since there wasn't anything left to occupy himself with. He set the coffee pot and fell asleep.

* * *

The halls of the Academy during the early morning hours were pleasant. They were quiet, clean, and Derek didn't have to worry about separating students who seemed to be on the verge of coitus. As he passed the staff lounge where many of the teachers took their morning coffee and ate their breakfast before students arrived, he heard a conversation. His name was brought up, so he paused. "Isn't there a home game for Lacrosse this week?" Stiles' familiar voice cut through the silence.

"Yeah," replied English teacher Scott McCall, one of the new teachers who had volunteered to replace the former Lacrosse coach, who had been part of the faculty insurrection. "Against one of our biggest rivals."

"Why isn't there a pep rally scheduled for before the game?" Stiles asked.

Lydia Martin, a math teacher, laughed. "The entire student body having fun? Hale would have an aneurism!"

Scott laughed loudly. "Can you just picture it?" He went on in a voice that rudely mocked Derek. "Tuck in those shirts! Use your inside voices! No dancing! If I see one smile, I'm issuing 50 demerits!" Lydia howled in raucous laughter, joined by several other teachers.

"Hey… give the dude a break," Stiles said. "So he's a little tightly wound. Wouldn't you be if you had six teachers planning a coup d'état because they didn't like that you got hired?"

"The springs inside my mattress are tightly wound," Scott countered. "Derek Hale is something else entirely."

That comment was followed by a new wave of laughter. Derek rushed off, trying to ensure that nobody would see that he heard it. It hurt. Didn't they see that he had made the adjustments that were necessary at the time? Didn't they realize that he was only trying to ensure that the legacy of the Academy carried on, despite the treasonous actions of their former coworkers?

Derek decided to skip breakfast entirely, no longer having much of an appetite. As he settled into the large, leather-bound chair that accented his old mahogany desk quite perfectly, he wondered how he could ever truly run this school when none of the teachers had any degree of respect for him. However, not wanting to let his morning be a complete waste, he opened up his email and began responding as needed.

There was a knock on the door frame and he looked up, seeing Stiles. He was wearing a blue corduroy blazer, a white screen-printed t-shirt that had a tie on it, dark blue jeans and leather shoes. "God damn it, Stiles!" Derek snapped. "How many times do I have to tell you about the dress code? I'm getting really sick of repeating myself!"

Stiles pursed his lips and sighed. "Look… I'm sorry… but I can't wear the stuffy outfits you want. I'll try to look neater, but I'm not gonna teach in a suit and tie. Drama classes are too physical for it."

Derek rolled his eyes, replying with a brisk, "Fine. What did you want?"

"I wanted to apologize for what you overheard. Some of the stuff they said was real asshole-ish," he said softly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Derek lied.

Shaking his head, Stiles chuckled. "I don't need a Ph.D. in Theater to spot bad acting when I see it. I know you overheard… I came out right as you were rounding the corner."

Derek leaned back in his chair. "Thank you for apologizing… but I do not want or need apologies or ass kissing… or whatever this might be. It is my job to run this school and I'm trying _damn_ hard to do my job. All I want is a staff I can rely on to enforce the rules and not undermine me every time they get the chance. It's not too lofty of a request, if you ask me."

Stiles shrugged. "You're right. It's not. But you've gotta be willing to meet them half way. I know I'm new here… and my word probably doesn't count for shit, but happy teachers are gonna lead to happier students… and happier students are gonna do better."

"These parents don't pay $7500 a year for happy students," Derek replied. "They pay for a competitive edge. They pay for the reputation this Academy has held for more than a century. They pay to know that when they drop their children off in the loop that we're going to be willing to take the steps that will help prepare them for Ivy League universities. I should be focused on ensuring that they're getting their money's worth and what am I doing instead? Trying to put out fires of petty, jealous rage from a few problem teachers who have given me more shit than the worst-behaved students at this school."

Stiles shook his head, turning to leave, pausing for a moment before saying, "You studied literature in your degree, right?"

"Yes."

"_A return to first principles in a republic is sometimes caused by the simple virtues of one man. His good example has such an influence that the good men strive to imitate him, and the wicked are ashamed to lead a life so contrary to his example_," Stiles recited.

"Ah," came Derek's reply. "Machiavelli. A classic. But he is also the one who said 'it is much more secure to be feared than to be loved.' So I'm not entirely sure what your point was."

"Well… if that won't work, here's a personal favorite from Oscar Wilde: 'Always forgive your enemies – nothing annoys them so much,'" Stiles responded, looking back to see a smile on Derek's face.

"Don't you have class to prepare for?" Derek asked pointedly, raising his eyebrow.

"Since you aren't going to a lacrosse pep rally on Friday… would you care to go get a drink with me?" Stiles inquired.

Immediately the playful banter stopped. This crossed a line. "No. I don't drink… And I certainly don't drink with my employees."

"Then would you care to go not get a drink with me on Friday?"

"I'm serious, Dr. Stilinski," Derek said, using formality to put up a wall. "There are strict anti-fraternization policies. No."

Stiles looked a little crestfallen. "I'm sorry I misread whatever that back and forth was…"

"That back and forth was me telling you to do your job… the one I'm paying you quite well to do. Now the bell is about to ring, I think you should probably be in your classroom when it does," Derek said dismissively.

Stiles looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't. Instead, he stormed off. Instantly Derek felt bad, but then he felt angry for feeling bad. Never before had he wanted to do something so badly… yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. To just say "yes" and accept that date. He sincerely wished he had never hired Stiles Stilinski. Life was certainly not going to get easier with him here.

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

Focus and concentration seemed to be impossible. Every time he closed his eyes, even for just a second, he saw Stiles' disappointed face as he walked away. He knew the right thing to do was apologize, but he was afraid that an apology would make him look weak; and if there was one thing Derek could not afford at this point, it was for the teachers at Beacon Hills Academy to see him as weak.

Instead of eating lunch, Derek wandered to the projection room that gave him the perfect position to spy on the goings-on in the theater classroom. A young female student was singing the song "I Dreamed a Dream" from the musical _Les Misérables_. The student's voice was beautiful and melodic. It was quite obvious that she had done a lot of practice over the weekend, and she hit each note with precision.

When she was done, the class applauded her, as well they should have. Stiles stood up. "That was truly amazing, Amelia!" he said cheerfully. "But I'm afraid it lacked the emotional backing that would have brought this entire room to tears. Think about the character. Fantine is at the lowest point she's ever been in her life. She's been working hard to support her daughter, who she had to send to live far away. She was unfairly fired from her job. She was forced to sell her hair and some teeth, as well as her body in order to continue to subsist. I want you to work on accessing that emotion. Really tap into it! On Friday, I want you to perform it again, alright?"

Amelia nodded emphatically. Derek could tell by the look on her face that she was already thinking of ways to access that emotion. "Thanks, Stiles!" she replied cheerfully, sitting back down.

Stiles turned to his class. "Anyone else?" Nobody volunteered, so Stiles went into his lesson. Derek watched for a few minutes before popping into other classrooms, including Dr. Argent's French course and Dr. Lahey's History course. He also did a quick sweep of the grounds to ensure that the maintenance crew was working to ensure the aesthetic appeal of the school continued.

When he returned to his office, he had a few phone calls to return before realizing that it was sixth period and Stiles was free. He made his way back to the theater room.

"I've got lesson plans to write. What do you need?" Stiles asked icily, not even looking up from his desk.

That sort of outward disrespect angered Derek. "Actually… I was going to apologize, but since you're being an ass, I'll just go back to my office."

"I'm sorry," Stiles said, sighing as he reclined in his chair. "Do you realize how frustrating it is to have these back-and-forth exchanges, which seem pretty filled with subtext, then to have the wall thrown up immediately?"

"Do you realize how frustrating it is to have every single decision you make second-guessed because your entire staff hates that you exist?" Derek replied. "Every move I make is under constant scrutiny. And no… it doesn't justify me being rude to you like I was this morning, but at the same time, if I don't equally enforce the rules, I get seen as weak."

"So what do we do?" Stiles asked.

"What do you mean 'we'? There is no 'we'!" Derek insisted.

"I know that!" replied an exasperated Stiles. "But there could be. There's obviously a reason you seem so intent on being in my room… and spying on my classes." Derek couldn't hide his surprise. "Yeah… that glass isn't as one-way as you might think."

"So what do you propose, then?"

"How about a bet?" Stiles suggested. "You can determine whatever it is. If you win, I'll never bring it up again. If I win, you have to go out and have a drink with me."

"I already told you… I don't drink," Derek said.

"Why not, if you don't mind me asking?"

"You'll laugh at me," Derek replied, trying to avoid the subject.

"I swear," Stiles held up three fingers. "Scouts honor."

"Girl Scouts?"

"Whatever! You understand… I won't laugh. I promise!" Stiles said earnestly.

Derek swallowed, trying to figure out a way to say it that wouldn't sound like something Stiles would laugh at. He realized, however, that his reason was simply too laughable. "I don't like not being in control." He could see Stiles visibly struggling to restrain his laughter.

"Well, assuming I win, I'll make sure that it's just one beer… and that you eat something, so it won't hit you too hard," Stiles said.

Quite against his nature, Derek agreed. "Alright. But my condition is that you come to school every day this week dressed according to the dress code. And I want different outfits. You don't get to just wear the same one every day."

"Challenge accepted," Stiles replied, his facial expression unreadable.

"Alright then. I'll see you tomorrow," Derek said, casually walking out of Stiles' classroom as the theater teacher returned the greeting.

Derek only made the bet because he was certain that Stiles likely didn't own one complete dress code-compliant outfit, let alone four. He was already looking forward to a quiet Friday night at home, curled up in front of his fireplace with a good book.

* * *

The next morning, as Derek poured over his morning paper, a cheerful "Good morning!" filled his office, drawing his attention away from an editorial about the state of education in the United States, in comparison to other industrialized countries. He had to force his eyes not to linger for too long as he took in the sight of a well-dressed and well-groomed Stiles. Feeling that _something _had to be amiss, he stood up to get a look at Stiles' shoes, which perfectly matched his belt. Derek was impressed.

"You clean up well!" Derek said. "This is the first time I've not accidentally mistaken you for a homeless person!"

Stiles tugged uncomfortably at his collar. "I feel like my shirt is trying to suffocate me. No wonder all the teachers here are so stuffy. This is so uncomfortable!"

"You eventually get used to it," Derek said. "The itching suffocating feeling goes away right around the time your heart turns into a little block of ice!"

"I can't tell if you're joking or not," Stiles replied, readjusting his tie.

"Only a little," Derek said. "That's the really messed up part."

"Thank God there are only three more days of this left," Stiles complained.

"You could always make it easy and just wear your regular clothes," Derek reminded him.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Stiles narrowed his eyes accusingly, a goofy grin affixed to his face.

"Quite a bit."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Dr. Hale," he said in a sing-song voice.

Derek allowed himself a glance at the perfectly-formed butt as Stiles walked away. He found it hard to peel away his eyes, but once he did, he regretted it. He knew this was wrong. This wasn't him. But Stiles made him feel giddy and playful in a way he hadn't felt since he was young.

* * *

The week progressed without incident. Each morning, Stiles presented himself in Derek's office, wearing a new outfit that both coincided with the academy's dress code and made Derek's self-control all the more feeble.

Friday morning, Stiles proved that he had won the bet. "So am I going to pick you up at your place? Or are you picking me up at mine?" he asked, a smug grin parting his perfect pink lips.

Derek's eyes narrowed, searching for something—anything—that might make the deal null-in-void. "Fuck me…" he whispered.

"Don't get too far ahead of yourself," Stiles joked. "Let's see how getting drinks goes, first."

"That's not what I meant!" Derek said defensively.

"I guess we'll find out tonight, now won't we?"

Derek scrawled his address on a memo sheet and reluctantly handed it to Stiles. "I'll be ready around eight."

"I'll see you then!" Stiles said cheerfully as he folded up the memo and stuck it in his pocket.

Derek wanted the day to drag on. He wanted it to last forever because he didn't want to go on that date. Of course, the day flew by. Derek felt like he blinked and suddenly it was time to go home. Reluctantly, he walked out to his car and headed home, tossing his keys casually on the counter as he contemplated a sudden bout of illness in order to avoid this outing with Stiles.

However, as he looked through his medicine cabinet, he realized that short of hospitalizing himself, there was no way to do it, so he reluctantly turned on the shower and started getting ready.

The hot water soothed his mind and he spent several minutes just standing beneath the steamy stream, letting it wash over his body. As he rinsed away the last of the soap, he realized that his trepidation was based in both anxiety and anticipation of the event. On one hand, he'd be spending an entire night in close proximity to the man he wanted nothing more than to kiss and caress. But on the other hand, he would be out drinking with a teacher from his Academy and breaking a rule he held to be very important.

As he stared into the mirror, liberally applying shaving cream to his face, he repeated the words, "You can do this. Just a few hours. Just one beer. Then you can come home and pretend like it never happened."

He had just finished getting ready when the doorbell rang. Taking a moment to look at the clock, he was actually shocked to see that Stiles was a minute early. As he opened the door, Derek struggled to remain stoic as he took in the sight before him. Stiles looked amazing. He had changed into something casual that suited him quite well. His hair was that sexy mess that looked as if he'd just rolled out of bed, despite the fact that it was perfectly coifed earlier that day. Derek didn't recognize the cologne Stiles had chosen to use, but as he inhaled it, he found that he couldn't get enough of it. Instantly, his stomach tied itself into nervous knots. "Hi," he said, attempting to keep his voice placid.

"Good evening, Dr. Hale!" Stiles said cheerfully.

Wincing, Derek corrected him. "For the purposes of this little outing… just call me Derek."

"Alright, Derek," Stiles replied, testing the feel of the name in his mouth. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Derek sighed, grabbing his keys and locking the door behind him.

"Your car or mine?" Stiles asked.

"I drive a Camaro," Derek replied, as if that were an answer.

Stiles pointed to the large, blue Jeep next to Derek's car. "I drive that."

"My car it is…"

"Hey!" Stiles scolded. "Don't be hating on the Jeep!"

As the Camaro roared to life, "La Habanera" from _Carmen_ began to play from the MP3 player connected to the radio.

"Opera?" Stiles asked incredulously. "Really?"

"Hey! If I can't hate on your Jeep, you can't hate on 'La Habanera'!"

"Well, I'd be lying if I said that I'm surprised," Stiles said. "It was bound to be either Opera or talk radio."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Derek asked defensively.

Stiles sighed, looking out the passenger window. "No offense, but you're kind of a tight-ass."

Derek _did_ take offense to that. "I can be fun!"

Rolling his eyes, Stiles stared at Derek with a look of pure doubt. "You're the person 'Fun' seeks out when it gets that sudden craving to kick the bucket."

"I'm a Headmaster. I'm not supposed to be all happy-go-lucky. I'm supposed to keep the school in line. And now that all the teaching positions are filled, I can go back to running the school the way it's supposed to be run!" Derek said. "But I don't want to talk about work tonight. I just want to go, drink the beer, then get back home."

"See? You're completely taking the fun out of this! It's like you're a real life Dementor!"

"A what?"

"A Dementor! You know… from Harry Potter!" Stiles said, dumbfounded that Derek didn't get that reference. His voice took on a judgmental tone. "I thought you said you majored in English literature…"

"I did. Classic literature. Good stuff," Derek replied.

"It doesn't get better than Harry Potter!" Stiles replied. "And if you try to argue that one, I swear I will quit."

"Really?"

"Really. I'm not even sure I can continue working for a person who hasn't read Harry Potter," Stiles said, there was not even the slightest hint that he was joking. Not wanting to make the conversation any more awkward, Derek asked directions to the bar. Stiles gave them. As they came to a stop, Stiles could see that Derek was nervous. "Relax. You're going to have fun, even if it kills you!"

Derek shot him a nervous glare.

"Okay… poor word choice. But it's just a beer. With a friend."

"No… it's a beer with a coworker… a subordinate coworker—which I may remind you, is a violation of the rules!" Derek corrected.

"Who came up with that rule, anyway?" Stiles asked.

"I did. Fraternization is wildly inappropriate!"

"So you're worried about breaking your own rule… which you have the power to suspend?" Stiles clarified.

When framed in that manner, Derek had no counter-argument. They got out and entered the bar. It was dimly lit and the music was fairly loud. Lights swirled around shirtless men danced in close proximity to one another. "This is a gay bar…" Derek said.

"No shit!" Stiles replied sarcastically, sitting down at the bar. Derek nervously sat beside him.

An attractive man with dark features walked up to him. "What'll it be tonight, Stiles?"

"Good evening, Danny-boy! My friend, Derek, here has never had alcohol. Can we hook him up with your best beer?"

Danny looked him over, licking his lips. Pulling out two mugs, he filled them with a beer Derek couldn't see, then slid them over to them. "At Jungle, a first timer's first drink is on the house." Derek felt uncomfortable from the way Danny was watching him.

Derek looked at the amber liquid in his mug with curiosity. Stiles lifted his own mug, prompting Derek to do the same. "To breaking rules and having fun!"

Begrudgingly, Derek tapped his mug against Stiles' and brought it to his lips. At first, he didn't like the taste of the beer. "Ugh… this is awful!"

"It grows on you," Stiles said before gulping down a third of his mug.

Derek kept trying, but the more he drank, the less he liked it. "Is there something else I can try?"

Stiles studied him for a few moments before ordering him a whiskey on the rocks. As the thick liquid washed over his tongue, it left a tingling sensation that he found quite pleasant. Stiles could tell that he'd found Derek's poison of choice. "That's not bad!" Derek said.

Three more of those later, Stiles was a little worried. Derek was well beyond drunk. His words barely made sense. "Hey… I think you've had enough, big guy," Stiles said, getting ready to settle the tab. Stiles helped Derek back out to the Camaro. By this point, he was entirely sober. Derek, however, was not. "I'm gonna need your keys."

For a moment, Stiles thought he was going to need to wrestle them out of Derek's hand. Derek kept holding them up, trying to make Stiles jump for them, but since he had a hard time even standing up, Stiles was able to easily grab them from him.

Once Derek was securely fastened in, Stiles walked around and brought the car to life. He'd never been in the driver's seat of a car so nice before. He felt a rush of adrenaline as the engine purred under the sounds of "Nessun Dorma".

Making his way back to the mansion where Derek lived, Stiles could see Derek's hand inching over to his knee. As soon as it did, Stiles tensed, moving Derek's hand back.

Derek felt uninhibited. All the wild thoughts of the things he wanted to do with Stiles suddenly felt as though they could easily happen. Stiles helped him to the door, but Derek had to fumble through the multitude of keys to unlock it. Once inside, Derek roughly pushed Stiles against the wall, clumsily pressing his lips toward those slightly parted, perfectly pink ones he'd lusted after from the moment he first saw them. Just as his tongue darted between them, he felt Stiles' hands on his chest. At first, he thought Stiles was getting into it, however, when the younger man turned his head, forcing their lips apart, Derek realized that wasn't the case. "Look dude… As much as I want to make out with you… you're drunk and it wouldn't be fair of me. I'd be taking advantage of you. I'll help you get into bed and, if you don't mind, crash on your couch. If you still feel like kissing me once you're sober… then maybe we can talk."

Though he understood, Derek still felt the pain of rejection. "'M'k m'sorry," he sighed, staggering toward the stairs. Stiles knew he'd never make it all the way up, so he rushed to help Derek.

"I'll be downstairs if you need me," Stiles assured him once he was comfortably on the king-sized mattress.

"G'night," Derek muttered, drifting nearly instantly to sleep as Stiles headed back downstairs after finding a blanket and pillow in the linen closet and curled up on the couch.

* * *

As light filtered in from his window, Derek became aware of the pounding in his head. He shielded his eyes from the light, which only seemed to make the pounding worse. He was still in the clothes he'd worn last night and had slept the entire time on top of his blanket. He was thirsty. Thirstier than he'd ever been in his life.

He trudged downstairs, needing water. He was surprised to see Stiles sprawled out on his couch, having forgotten that he stayed the night. Stiles was talking to himself in his sleep, but Derek couldn't quite make out what was being said. After tossing back three bottles of water and two aspirin, Derek decided to wake his employee, wanting to stop the impropriety as soon as possible. Most of last night was a complete blur. All he really remembered was that they'd gone to a gay club.

Unceremoniously, Derek shook Stiles' shoulder. Stiles awoke with a start, throwing the blanket off of him. "Calm yourself, Ninja Warrior," Derek said, sinking into his chair, drinking yet another bottle of water.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Stiles asked.

"My head's killing me. I don't really remember much of anything…" Derek said. "And why are you on my couch?"

"You said I could crash here," Stiles replied.

_Obvious alcohol-induced lack of judgment_, Derek thought. "Any other bad decisions?"

"Aside from you trying to kiss me?" Stiles said. There was an edge in his voice as he did.

Instantly, Derek stiffened. "There's no way."

"Oh yeah. You did," Stiles insisted. "Other than the fact that you were drunk off your ass and it wouldn't have been fair, the little bit of it that happened before I stopped wasn't all that bad." Derek suddenly felt nauseous. He immediately escaped into the kitchen, standing over the sink as he contemplated the horror of what had been revealed.

Stiles joined him, placing a comforting hand on Derek's shoulder. "Relax, Derek. It was just a kiss. The only reason I stopped it was because you were drunk."

"It's not just a kiss, Stiles! I'm your boss. This is wrong! I never should have let it happen!" Derek said, finally looking at Stiles. He couldn't tell if he were angrier about the fact that he'd allowed his control to slip to the point of kissing Stiles or the fact that he couldn't remember the kiss.

Stiles shook his head. "You see everything in this weird black-and-white way. I want to kiss you. Last night, you wanted to kiss me. Just fucking do it."

"There's a line!"

"One that _you_ drew!"

Derek turned around, ready to tell Stiles to leave, but the large brown eyes staring up at him made him pause. They were close. Very close. Closer than he'd been to Stiles before, that he could remember. And those lips. Right there. Full. Pink. Luscious. Inviting. His heart pounded in his chest as he leaned down, his hands resting gently on Stiles' neck and shoulder as their faces came together in a whirlwind of passion. It was better than the dream had been. His lips were so soft. Stiles' tongue slipped into his mouth, playfully teasing his own, and fueling the fire that much more. Derek pressed Stiles up against the fridge, their bodies seemingly glued to each other. When the need for air finally overpowered Derek's need for Stiles' lips, he slowly pulled away, still somewhat shocked by what just happened.

* * *

**A/N**: Since today is my birthday, I figured... hey! Let's put out another chapter! Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

His mind was running several thousand miles per second and Derek was having a very difficult time even processing what had just happened. "That was nice," Stiles said, smiling.

"Yeah," Derek admitted, sounding somewhat aloof. "It was." In the back of his mind, Derek was replaying that dream in which the kiss with Stiles led to a tornado that destroyed the school. He felt a need to go check to make sure his school was still standing, but at the same time, he also felt the need to kiss those beautiful lips again. Stiles had felt so good in his hands, pressed between his body and the fridge. He wanted to feel that closeness again… body against body, tongue against tongue. Yet he felt quite a bit of regret. He crossed the line. He had been so careful to keep his eye on it, so as to avoid this very thing, yet it was _him_ who crossed it.

Stiles could see the emotions and thoughts raging war in Derek's head, just by observing the look of confusion in his eyes. "Are you alright?"

Derek took several steps backward, leaning against a countertop. "Uh yeah… I need you to go, Stiles… I'll see you on Monday."

"Derek… come on…" Stiles pleaded, making no effort to hide his disappointment. "You can't keep doing this to me! It isn't fair!"

"I know," he sighed. "But I'm just really confused right now… I need to do some thinking."

"Then talk it out with me…" Stiles begged, stepping forward, closing the distance between them. "Just stop shutting me out! There's something here… you know there is!"

Derek again moved, needing to create more distance. He needed to think about this logically, and Stiles' presence was preventing him from doing that. "I know. Just please… I'm not angry. I just need to think."

Stiles was upset. "I'll give you time to think," he said. "But I don't know how much more of this roller coaster I can take. I'm starting to get whiplash."

He knew that it was unfair to put Stiles through this. "I promise we can talk about it on Monday," Derek said, making sure to look Stiles straight in his beautiful brown eyes.

Stiles didn't respond. He just rolled his eyes and walked out of the kitchen, stopping only to grab his shoes and keys. Derek stood there, watching as the cause of all his problems walked out.

Derek had to figure out if the soft caress of Stiles' lips was worth the invitation of familiar agony into his life. He wasn't sure he could go through that sort of pain again. So much of his personality changed after he lost Paige. There were no longer lights dancing in his eyes; there was no laughter or joy in his heart. She had been the fuel that allowed those embers of humanity and compassion to burn brightly, and the moment he watched the life fade from her body was the moment those embers turned to ash. That ash stayed there until the day Stiles first walked into his office.

Sure, Paige's death was a tragic accident. But the way Derek saw it, inviting Stiles into his heart was tantamount to inviting the possibility of loss and pain. He simply wasn't sure he could survive it again. Slowly, he found his way to his chair and sunk into its comforting embrace. Literary examples of his exact problem danced through his mind. He tried to shake them out, but the imagery persisted. He once wrote a paper asserting that such activity was cowardice. To eschew any possibility of love for the risk of the pain that might come of it… that was cowardice plain and simple.

There was plenty of poetry that stood as a testament to the fact that love was suffering. Derek didn't know if "love" was necessarily the appropriate word to use at the moment. Lust was probably more accurate, but then again, that fluttery sensation in his stomach that he felt every time Stiles was in arm's reach seemed to say otherwise. The only other person to cause that in him had been Paige.

Derek ended up tearing through his home office to find a sheet of paper. In true form, he did the one thing that seemed logical: he made a list. Two lists, actually. On one side of the sheet he listed all the reasons why he shouldn't allow what was obviously there to develop any further. On the other side, he tried to list the reasons why he should. In the end, the list of reasons why not ended up longer. He was only able to come up with one reason why he should. He stared at it until the words etched themselves into his brain:

_I want it more than air._

* * *

Stiles sat in his Jeep, hesitant to face the day ahead of him. What he feared would happen had come to pass. They kissed and now things were incredibly awkward. He contemplated avoiding Derek's office, but he needed to get the mail from his box, which was located right by the Headmaster's door. His thumbs unconsciously strummed the rhythm of "Light My Candle" which he'd spent the rest of his weekend choreographing as a fun way to introduce his beginner class to the idea of acting, dancing, and singing at the same time, but still within the context of the play they were going to be performing.

When he had killed enough time, he slowly exited his Jeep and made the dauntingly long trip to the administrative office. With each step, his resolve to actually enter the office faltered just a little more until he was finally there, his hand hovering just above the handle.

"Dr. Stilinski!" the secretary exclaimed in her gravelly, croaky voice as she pulled the door open, surprised to see the theater teacher standing there.

"Good morning, Mrs. Gautier," Stiles mumbled, trying to hide the fact that he had been startled by an 80 year old woman.

"Call me Jane! 'Mrs. Gautier' makes me feel old!" she complained.

"My apologies, Jane!" Stiles chimed as he smiled and stepped aside, allowing her to bustle by him before he went in.

Derek saw him immediately as he tried to quickly grab his mail and dash. "Hey Stiles… can you come in here for a second?"

Stiles stood in the doorway. "If you're going to say something to try and get me to forgive you, I want you to know that I'm only interested in hearing it if you promise that I'm not going to get a wall right after."

"Please," Derek insisted. "Sit down. And close my office door."

"You're not firing me, are you?" Stiles asked.

Derek rolled his eyes. "No. I'm not going to fire you. Now will you please sit the fuck down?" Stiles did, though he stayed on his guard. "I _do_ want to apologize for what happened."

"You don't have to apologize for kissing me, Derek. We both know we enjoyed that kiss. I felt the erection in your pants!" Stiles replied.

Derek blushed a furious shade of crimson. "That's not what I was apologizing for."

"Then what?"

"Kicking you out the way I did. It wasn't fair to you. Nor is the way I've been leading you on and pushing you away. None of it is fair and I'm sorry," Derek said.

"Then why do you keep doing it?"

"Trust me, you'll get the full story eventually. But all you need to know right now is that for reasons that I probably should have sought counseling to deal with, I'm afraid. You make me act in a way I haven't acted in years… and you make me feel a way I haven't felt in years. And I'm fucking terrified," he admitted. His voice cracked a little as he spoke. He had never discussed Paige with anyone. Not even in a round-about way. He wasn't even sure if he could bring himself to say her name out loud. She had been so important to him and not only was he afraid of losing Stiles the way he lost her, but he was also afraid that if he opened his heart to Stiles, he'd forget her.

Stiles saw the tears form in Derek's eyes, despite the Headmaster's attempts to blink them away before they were noticed. He knew not to press the issue. "So where do we stand?" he asked. He knew Derek hated when he referred to them as a "we" but at the moment, there was no other way to put it.

Derek was silent for a moment, trying to collect himself. "Nothing serious… just casual. And it _must_ remain secret."

A grin parted Stiles lips. He jumped to his feet and leaned across the desk, surprising Derek with a kiss, which was quickly returned. When they parted, Stiles' hand slipped on the newspaper which was folded carefully. It went flying, sending on top of it a copy of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_. He reached over and picked it up. The book mark was still in it. He was somewhere in chapter nine. This only made him grin more. He waved the book in a semi-accusing manner.

Derek only smiled and shrugged. "What can I say? You threatened to quit… I had to do something…"

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks for reading! I'm sorry it's so short. We're going to learn more about Derek's history and it's definitely going to influence him and Stiles. Let me know what you thought!


	5. Chapter 5

Entering into a casual relationship with Stiles, Derek discovered, was a taxing endeavor. There were moments in which Derek cursed Stiles' large brown eyes, rosy pink lips, and awkwardly nerdy and adorable personality. Resisting the urge to fall in love was probably one of the most difficult things he had ever done. Since he promised Stiles he'd stop putting a wall between them, he had to come up with more creative ways to do just that.

He became particularly more creative once sex had been introduced to their dynamic. He had always known he was bisexual. But aside from the inappropriately long glances at his teammates in the showers after basketball games and practices during his high school and undergrad years, and the few times he had watched porn, Derek had never acted on his carnal desires for other men.

So when Derek found himself in Stiles' bed, both of them down to their boxers with their clothing strewn throughout the apartment, he was in entirely foreign territory. Curious hands ventured further and further down his torso, Stiles' hips grinding against him with desire and anticipation. However, just as the wandering fingers dipped beneath his boxers, Derek froze, grabbing Stiles' hand and pulling it away.

"Relax!" Stiles chuckled. "I'm gonna suck it, not steal it!"

"I know you're not going to steal it!" Derek replied defensively. "I just…"

Stiles' eyes widened as he realized. "Are you a virgin?"

Derek's response was a convincing, but complete lie. "No! I've had sex before… just not with a man."

"Oh," Stiles murmured. "Well… let me guide you." He slowly slid Derek's boxers down and off his body, tossing them casually to the side. Derek watched as Stiles eyed his newly-freed cock with a sexy combination of hunger, lust, and adoration. He moaned loudly as Stiles licked up the length of the shaft, letting his tongue swirl around the large head, before it disappeared into his eager mouth. This was the first time somebody other than himself had touched him there. It felt better than he could have possibly imagined. Derek felt as though he were in heaven. He could feel his orgasm approaching and Stiles could tell by the way he was breathing and moving that he needed to stop, much to Derek's disappointment. "Don't worry… I won't leave you hanging… but I didn't want to end our fun there," Stiles told him. "I was wondering if you wanted to try it on me?"

"Uh alright," Derek mumbled as Stiles finally removed his last article of clothing. He felt timid and silly as he lowered his head toward Stiles' groin, letting his lips graze the throbbing tube of flesh. He let his tongue caress it. The taste was strange, but not bad. Slowly, he took it into his mouth, wrapping his lips around Stiles. Derek became instantly aware that he had been exposed to false advertising when it came to giving blowjobs. Stiles and pornos had made this look easy and even fun. But as his head bobbed up and down, he found his jaw was starting to ache and it was incredibly tedious trying to ensure that he was providing Stiles pleasure while not grating his teeth against the sensitive skin. Occasionally he'd try to go a little too far and would gag.

Eventually, Stiles pulled him back up, kissing him. "Are you ready to try something else?"

"I want to be on top," Derek said stiffly.

Stiles chuckled. "Don't worry big guy… I was gonna let you. But before that…" With a surprising show of strength, Stiles managed to push Derek onto his back so that his legs were in the air.

"What are you doing?" Derek asked.

"It's alright," Stiles replied. "Just trust me." He lowered his head. Derek was nervous, completely unsure of what he should expect. However when he felt something wet and slimy against his backside, he tensed, until he felt it slip into him. It took him a second to realize what he was feeling was Stiles' tongue. He relaxed when he realized how good it felt.

"That's amazing," Derek moaned, which urged Stiles to put more effort into it, stopping only when he could sense Derek was once again on the verge of orgasm.

"Alright big guy… now it's time for what we've all been waiting for," Stiles said. "But there's a little bit of prep work that goes into this. Since you're kind of big, if you were to just shove it in me, it'd hurt and we'd probably spend the rest of the night in the hospital." He leaned over, grabbing some lube and condoms out of the bedside stand.

Derek was shocked at how readily available those items were to him. "Do you have sex in here often?"

"Well… sometimes it's in the living room and the shower. Danny was pretty fond of the kitchen," Stiles admitted. Derek made a mental note to never eat while visiting Stiles.

"By 'Danny' you mean the guy from the bar?" he asked.

"Yeah… he and I used to have a thing… but I don't know… it just didn't work out," Stiles explained as he squirted some lube on Derek's fingers before repositioning them both so that he was now on his back, legs in the air. He slowly guided Derek's fingers into him. "Just work it back and forth… Alright add another…" He repeated the process, talking Derek through the process of prepping him for what he wanted most. Stiles rolled the condom onto Derek's dick and added lube to it and then more to himself. Derek got into position. "Alright… go slowly."

Derek nodded, pressing in. He was surprised at how hard it was, even after the work that he put into it beforehand, to actually pass the sphincter. However once he did, he gave an audible gasp. He was so tight and warm. He slowly pushed in, pausing and continuing based on visual cues from Stiles' face, which was turning somewhat red, as were his chest and shoulders. "Are you alright?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah… it feels really good."

"Same here…" Derek panted, beginning a series of slow, short thrusts. He pulled out and added more lube before receding back into Stiles' body. Stiles' hand furiously pumped up and down on his cock as he basked in the pleasure of the act when Derek picked up the pace on Stiles' direction.

He leaned down, kissing as he continued to thrust, though is movements were becoming more frantic. "Are you close?" Stiles asked.

"Yeah," Derek grunted.

"Me too…"

Derek squeezed his eyes shut as he slammed into Stiles, filling the condom entirely. He felt a rush of bliss as he collapsed next to Stiles who was convulsing from his own ecstasy. There was a sheen of sweat covering both of them. He watched as Stiles just basked in the afterglow. He looked beautiful. Derek leaned over and kissed him.

They kissed and Derek moved close to Stiles, not worried that Stiles' semen was getting on him. He liked the feel of their bodies next to one another. As he rested his head on Stiles' shoulder, he realized that he could very easily come to love Stiles. He could fall asleep and wake up next to him every single day for the rest of his life. The idea of that scared the living shit out of him.

They had sex several more times before both were too exhausted to even move and they fell asleep.

The next morning, Derek woke up before Stiles did. He was able to quickly get out of bed and pull on his clothes before Stiles was aware that anything was up. It was just as Derek had made his way to the front door of the apartment that Stiles appeared in his boxers. "Hey… I sort of hoped to wake up next to you. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah," Derek lied. "I didn't want to wake you. I tend to be a bit of an early riser and I remembered there were a few things I needed to get done at home."

"Oh… alright," Stiles said. He sounded disappointed.

Derek went across the living room, kissing him. "I'll see you at school on Monday, alright?"

That seemed to cheer Stiles up. "Ok, see you then."

Immediately upon leaving the apartment Derek stopped by the library. He looked up the biochemical mechanisms that drove the feelings he felt during his time with Stiles the night before. By learning that his feelings were just neurotransmitters, he became more secure about his feelings toward Stiles could be minimized to dopamine, vasopressin, and oxytocin.

The second time they had sex was a bit of a surprise. Stiles ended up bent over Derek's desk. It was the first time he had ever done something so spontaneous. He spent the rest of the afternoon meticulously cleaning his desk, but it was definitely worth it.

* * *

Their encounters were often. They were usually at Stiles' apartment, and Derek would concentrate on the neurotransmitters as a way of creating emotional distance. _It isn't love_, he would tell himself. _It's chemistry. I'm biologically designed to want to love him._ When they were done, Derek would come up with some excuse for why he needed to leave, despite Stiles' disappointment.

It was the seventh time it happened that Stiles finally put his foot down. "Why do you never want to sleep with me?"

"We have sex… I thought that's what that was," Derek replied.

"No. We fuck… more accurately you fuck me, then you rush to get your clothes on and leave."

"What do you expect, Stiles?"

"I'd think that by now, you might care enough about me to see that I'm pretty hurt by this!" Stiles said.

"It's not love! It's chemistry! We're designed to want to feel close to the people we have sex with. It doesn't mean anything!"

"What the fuck, Derek?" Stiles asked. He was shocked by how callous Derek was being.

"Why are you surprised?" Derek shot back. "You know what this is."

"Yeah. You want it to be 'casual' but sometimes I really just feel like I'm a hole for your dick! I had the same arrangement with Danny but at least he'd stay and cuddle! I'd wake up next to him the next morning... I wouldn't have to watch him walk out right after he finished!" Stiles shot back, making no attempt to hide how hurt he truly was.

"What do you want, Stiles?"

"I'm not saying I want a boyfriend…. But I want to feel like a person!" he said. "But you know what… you aren't capable of it."

Derek wanted to walk out right then, but he'd only be proving Stiles correct. "I told you before… there's a reason…"

"Then what is it?" Stiles demanded. "Because if I'm going to walk away from the only man I've ever loved, then I want to have something to hold on to other than the fact that he was a complete dick!"

"You love me?" Derek asked, shocked.

"Yes… no… I thought I did," Stiles replied. "But it doesn't matter."

"Alright. If you want to know. Her name was Paige."

* * *

"Derek, I think this is a little overboard!"

Derek merely laughed. "Alright… it might be a little overboard, but come on… we're young… this is San Francisco. How many people get this option?"

"I don't know," Paige replied, laughing. "Probably around 800,000 San Franciscans."

"Good point. Then do you want to walk?" Derek asked.

Paige eyed the giant hill. "No… I guess the trolley you reserved for us will do."

"You should probably get used to stuff like this. You're dating a Hale, after all!" Derek mused.

"No," Paige corrected him, climbing aboard the trolley. "I'm dating Derek… a kind, romantic English major… who just so happens to be a Hale." Derek let his hand rest around her waist as they rode. "But seriously… some people spend Spring Break with their families… or in Cancun. Why San Francisco?"

"It's the city of brotherly love."

"That would be Philadelphia. San Fran is called 'The City by the Bay' and the 'Paris of the West'. Did you even pay attention in Geography?"

Derek laughed and kissed her. "When are we going to have time to visit San Francisco when you're an established cellist performing for the Queen?"

"I'll make sure to book at least two concerts here a year," she replied with a giggle.

Derek stared at her, ignoring the beautiful scenery around him because in his mind, as long as she was there, nothing could eclipse her beauty. His arm brushed the small square lump in his jacket pocket. He had been working so hard to prevent her from knowing it was there until that night. He talked to his uncle Peter about wanting to take her somewhere amazing. Peter told him to just relax and let him make all the arrangements. They were going to spend the day sightseeing, then after a nice, romantic dinner, he was going to take her to Land's End and propose. He wanted everything to be perfect. This would be a night she would never forget.

She was the first thing he thought of when woke up and the last thing he thought of when he fell asleep. The thought of spending the rest of his life with her was exciting and he wanted nothing more to start his life with her immediately. The day they spent together was amazing and Derek hoped it was prophetic of a lifetime of future days.

Dinner that night was at a five-star French restaurant called Jardinier. It was incredibly expensive, but money was no object to a Hale.

She looked amazing. She was wearing a blue evening gown that he'd given her along with a necklace and matching earrings, all of which were also gifts from Derek. "I'm so full!" she said, placing her delicate hand on her stomach as they stood up. Derek signed the check.

"Just one last thing," Derek replied. "Then we can go back to the hotel."

"Can we do it tomorrow?" Paige pleaded. "I'm exhausted."

"Just this one thing. I promise," Derek said. "Then I'll let you sleep as long as you want tomorrow."

"Alright," she relented. "But you owe me!" They had gotten about a block away from the restaurant when Paige stopped. "I think I left our hotel key in the women's restroom of the restaurant."

"It'll be alright. We can get another one," Derek replied.

"That's a waste of $50. Seriously, Derek, it'll just take a minute!" she insisted.

They turned back around. "I'll go in and get it," Derek offered.

"Don't be silly! It's in the women's restroom," she laughed. "Just stay right here. I'll be back in a moment."

Derek stood there watching as she crossed the street, then disappeared into the restaurant. It felt like she took forever, but at last he saw her emerge. She held up the key triumphantly and ran toward Derek. From his perspective, it all seemed to go in slow motion. She hadn't been looking where she was going. The car struck her. Derek felt helpless as he watched her tumble over the hood, then back onto the road. "PAIGE!" he screamed, darting across the road, dodging cars. As he got to her side, he picked her up, yelling for someone to call an ambulance. "Paige, sweetie… stay with me."

"Derek…" she whimpered. "It hurts…"

He kissed her forehead, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. "The ambulance will be here soon. Just stay with me."

She shook her head lightly. "I'm dying," she said.

Tears began to fall from his eyes. "Don't say that… please…"

"I love you, Derek," she said.

"I love you too," he replied, kissing her cheek. He had to do it now or never. He reached into his pocket, but she moved her arm to stop him.

"The answer is yes," she said. Her breathing was becoming more labored. "I know you were going to propose. Yes. I would have married you."

"Will!" he corrected, still crying. By this point, a crowd had gathered around them. "You will marry me, Paige. The ambulance will be here and you'll go to the hospital and you'll get better… then you and I can spend the rest of our lives together."

"I _am_ spending the rest of my life with you, Derek. I want the last thing I see to be your eyes," she said weakly. "I'm not going to last much longer…"

"No," Derek whimpered. "Please stay with me…"

Using the last of her strength, she reached up and caressed his cheek, wiping the tears away. "I love you, Derek."

Derek screamed out as her eyes closed for the last time. "Wake up…" he begged, kissing her cheek. The ambulance arrived moments later. The autopsy showed several broken ribs and massive damage to her internal organs. Even if the ambulance had been faster, she would have died. That news didn't help though.

When he buried her, he buried any notion of falling in love again. He didn't believe he could love anyone the way he loved Paige, nor did he believe anyone would merit his affection like she had. After Paige's death, Derek didn't laugh. He rarely smiled. His eyes became cold and empty. He was no longer spontaneous. He had no reason to be. Without Paige, his life was empty.

* * *

Stiles remained silent for a while, trying to figure out how to respond. Derek sighed. "I know that what I've done is wrong. And I know I keep fucking up… but I can't fall in love with you, Stiles. It hurts too much."

Stiles couldn't accept that answer. "To avoid something because it might be painful is cowardice," he said simply. "I'm sorry you lost Paige. I can't imagine what that must have been like for you. But you can't hide behind that to explain how you've acted toward me."

Derek could feel the anger building up within himself. "Don't you see, Stiles?" he asked. "If I love you, she dies again. I can't do that to her."

"Do you think she'd be happy to see the way you've kept her living?" Stiles replied. "It's not healthy. I don't think she'd even recognize you."

There was nothing Derek could say in response to that statement. Stiles was right. Paige wouldn't give him the time of day if she were to see him now. He was nothing like the man she fell in love with. He was a pitiful shadow of the man she loved. "You're right," he said softly. "She would be ashamed of me."

"Then what do you intend on doing about it?"

Derek sat down on the bed next to Stiles. "I can't promise that I'm not going to keep hurting or disappointing you. It seems to be what I'm best at," he said. "But I can promise that I'll let you in."

"I don't know if that's good enough," Stiles replied honestly. "I've given you so many chances. I need something more substantial than that." Derek nodded, understanding where Stiles was coming from. Stiles had given him way more chances than he even deserved. "I'm a big boy, Derek. I can handle a little hurt and disappointment here and there. I can't handle this constant second-guessing myself in an attempt to hold your favor. I'm not going to do it anymore. I shouldn't, but I love you."

Derek tried. He put every ounce of strength into saying those three little words in response. They kept getting blocked in his throat. He couldn't force them out no matter how hard he tried to. Instead, he pulled off his clothes, down to his boxers and crawled back into bed with Stiles. It was a small gesture, but he needed to regain Stiles' trust and hopefully this was a step in the right direction.

Stiles smiled, kissing Derek on the cheek. He understood the strength that had to have been behind that gesture. Stiles fell asleep quickly with Derek next to him. Derek took quite a bit longer. He looked over, watching as Stiles' chest rose and fell in a steady, slow pace. "I love you too, Stiles…" he whispered. He knew that Stiles didn't hear it. He knew that the next morning, they'd wake up next to one another and Stiles would have no knowledge that he finally admitted it, but he didn't care because he also intended to show it. With that resolution, he wrapped his arms around Stiles' lithe body and pulled them close, breathing in Stiles' scent as he, too, faded into slumber.

* * *

**A/N**: Okay. So. I know that was a bit of an emotional roller coaster ride. But I promise… hot romantic sexy time in the next chapter. Please let me know what you thought of the chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

Trigger warning for mourning, manipulation, underage sex, and… let's just call it what it is: rape.

* * *

To Stiles and most of the rational universe, it was simply a drawer. It was a wooden container inside a larger wooden container where various objects could be stored out of sight. However as Derek sat on his bed, staring at the drawer, he felt as if the room was closing in on him. This was a huge step for him. Stiles had a drawer in his house. Standing up, Derek stretched, before walking into the bathroom. He couldn't think of a single room in his house where Stiles' touch hadn't been added. There were two different types of shower gel, two toothbrushes, and two towels hanging in the bathroom. Every time he noticed it, he had to practice deep breathing techniques.

Though Stiles had temporarily forbidden him from entering the kitchen, Derek realized he was in desperate need of wine. He poured more than the recommended amount of a cabernet and downed it with more speed than he could be proud of.

"Slow down, big guy!" Stiles chuckled. "Dinner's almost done. I don't want you to be too drunk to enjoy it."

Derek replied with a nervous laugh and downed another gulp. "It smells divine," he croaked.

Stiles wasn't fooled. "Are you alright, Derek?"

"I'm fine," Derek replied his voice unintentionally much higher than he wanted it to be.

"Bullshit. What's wrong?" he paused. "It's my stuff being here, isn't it…"

"I'm not saying anything because tonight is supposed to be a good night and if I do, it will become a _thing_ and we'll spend all night arguing. I'm just going to have to get used to this change. That's all," Derek replied.

"I don't want you to be uncomfortable in your own house," Stiles insisted. "I can take my stuff home with me and we can try this later."

"See! You're turning it into a _thing_!"

"I am not! It's not a _thing_, I promise!"

"And now you're making a _thing_ about whether or not this nonexistent _thing_ is actually a _thing_!" Derek said exasperatedly. "This is why I didn't want to discuss it!"

"Stop saying 'thing'! It's starting to not even sound like a real word anymore!"

"Because there isn't a _thing_. So let's just have dinner. It smells great," Derek said, sitting at the table.

Stiles' belongings being in his house really was a _thing_, though. It was a huge step forward for them, particularly Derek. He was trying to show Stiles that he was putting forth an effort to be a boyfriend and not a fuck buddy. And he was the one who cleaned out that drawer for Stiles to use in the first place. The look on Stiles' face told him he'd fucked up. While the food tasted amazing, dinner became awkwardly silent. After a while, the silence became so unbearable that Derek couldn't eat. "Look, I'm sorry, Stiles… this is just a lot of change to get used to. Paige didn't even have a drawer at my place."

"Well, like I said, I don't mind trying this again at a later point. I don't want you to be uncomfortable by this," Stiles repeated. "I love you, Derek. And if you don't feel comfortable with me having a drawer here, I won't have one."

"I'm not going to get used to it if we don't just do it," Derek admitted. "I want to be a better boyfriend."

Stiles smiled. "The fact that you said that is enough for me…"

"So I didn't royally fuck up?" Derek asked.

Stiles laughed. "No, you didn't royally fuck up. And yes… you're getting laid tonight."

Derek chuckled, returning to his meal. When they were both done eating, Stiles cleared the table and began to scrub the dishes clean. Derek walked up behind him, his arms snaking around Stiles' waist and his face was buried in the crook of Stiles' neck, inhaling his scent.

Letting out a boyish giggle, Stiles squirmed out of Derek's grasp. "At least let me finish cleaning the dishes before we dirty the kitchen…"

"I don't want to wait. The dishes will still be there tomorrow," Derek replied, turning Stiles around and pushing him so he was sitting on the counter. Stiles had never seen Derek so frisky. Usually, he was timid when it came to initiating sex. He liked this side of his boyfriend so he gave in, leaning to kiss him.

Slowly, Stiles began to peel off Derek's clothing, hating the fact that it meant that he had to stop kissing as he pulled the shirt over his boyfriend's head, though he relished the feel of Derek's smooth skin beneath his palms.

Derek wrapped Stiles' legs around his waist and picked him up, carrying him up the stairs and into the bedroom where he gently set him on the bed. Derek hovered over Stiles, letting their lips touch for a lingering second before he opened his eyes, staring at the beautiful sight beneath him. _I love you_, he thought. He was still unable to say it, though every single day he knew he meant it more and more.

His hand slid down Stiles' abdomen before taking a tight, yet gentle grip of Stiles' cock, stroking it in just the manner he knew drove his boyfriend wild. Moans and dirty words tumbled out of his mouth, which only served to egg Derek on. Soon, it wasn't his hand that was pumping up and down on Stiles, but it was Derek's mouth, working feverishly to bring Stiles to the brink, though just as he was finally about to cum, Derek stopped, relishing the look of frustration and disappointment on his lover's face.

He lubed his fingers and carefully began loosening Stiles up before putting on a condom and entering him. He took his cues from Stiles' facial expressions. He slowed down when Stiles looked uncomfortable, sped up when Stiles looked like he need it. His lips playfully teased Stiles' nipples, causing his boyfriend's back to arc. Derek's rough hands caressed the smooth pale skin.

He felt his lover shudder, the signs of his impending orgasm showing. Derek carefully wrapped his hand around Stiles' shaft, gently pumping up and down as he thrust at a steady pace. He stared intensely into Stiles' eyes as he brought them to orgasm.

In that moment, as hormones flooded his brain, all Stiles wanted was for Derek to collapse next to him and just cuddle. Instead, Derek did what he always did and removed the condom before hopping into the shower. At least they slept together, but Derek's post-sex fight or flight response was still hurtful.

As he waited alone for Derek to return, Stiles decided he'd finally talk to him about it. Granted, he shouldn't have started the conversation with "We need to talk" because the post-sex grin immediately faded from Derek's face.

"Is everything alright?"

Stiles sighed. "Yeah… no… I mean it's just that you always want to get up and be away from me after sex."

"We've slept together every single time since we last fought about it," Derek replied dismissively.

Stiles shook his head. "I know that but I mean _right_ after. You always go take a shower or pull on clothes or something to prevent you from just being with me immediately after. It's like you're putting up a wall without actually putting up a wall."

Derek had never actually viewed it that way so he became somewhat defensive. "I don't know what you're talking about. It's been a good night… let's just keep it that way."

"And now you're redirecting. Is there a relationship mis-step you're _not_ going to take?" Stiles asked. "This is something that's really bothering me and we need to talk about it."

"What do you want me to say?" Derek asked. "I'm sorry you're seeing things that aren't there."

Immediately Derek realized he shouldn't have said that. Stiles angrily replied, "Yeah… I'm seeing something that's not there. You."

Derek rolled his eyes. "You know what… I'm just going to sleep downstairs."

"This is the exact same argument we had before, you _do_ realize this, right?" Stiles pointed out. "You were doing so well… and now… it's just like when we first started."

Derek turned around and started to walk out, but he stopped. "I've changed almost everything for you. I've become something I'm not. Paige wouldn't have made me change. She liked me as I was…"

"No," Stiles said, his rage boiling. "You're not allowed to use her as a weapon against me. You're not the only one with baggage, Derek! I've got some of my own. But you don't see me hiding behind it like a coward."

* * *

It was all happening too fast. First his mom, then his dad. In less than a month he'd become an orphan. He stared at the little orange bottle of pills he had to keep on him at all times. He now knew the signs of a panic attack all too well. He never wanted to experience another one again.

The social worker's car smelled like cigarettes, cheap perfume, and dogs. His stare shifted silently out the window as the car brought him to a strange house in a city he'd never heard of. "Your new foster parents are excited to meet you," she said.

Her fake cheery voice grated on him. He didn't respond. He just kept staring, watching as trees, houses, and businesses that he'd grown up seeing passed by him. In a way this was good, though. It removed the constant reminders that he'd never be able to play another game of catch with his dad. That his mom wouldn't fuss over his first high school homecoming, or his prom. That he'd never sit down to another family dinner and have his parents ask about his day. He'd only have that empty place in his chest and the dreams that ended in him screaming out for them and then crying until he was exhausted.

When the car finally stopped, it was in front of a large two-story Victorian with green paint and white trim. A handsome man and shorter beautiful woman stood in front of the porch. "It's nice to meet you, Stiles," the man said in a baritone British accent.

"We're happy to have you in our home, even if it's under such terrible circumstances," the woman replied. She held out her hand. Stiles shook it, but didn't reply. She led Stiles inside to his room while her husband took care of the final paperwork that made them Stiles' official guardians. The room was painted blue. Apparently the social worker had given them a short list of things he liked, because posters adorned the walls and the blanket had lacrosse designs. "We wanted this to feel like your home. If it's too much, we can start from scratch and let you pick everything."

"No, it's fine," Stiles mumbled, looking around. He set his bags down on the bed. "Thanks."

"I'll let you get settled in. Dinner will be ready in an hour," she said.

Stiles didn't use that hour alone to unpack. Instead, he cried into the pillow. The man knocking on his door was what told him that it was time for them to eat. "I can't imagine what you're going through right now. But if you want to talk to us, we're here for you," he said. "Come on. Let's go eat."

They ventured back downstairs. The food smelled amazing. "So what do you want me to call you?" Stiles asked quietly after he finished eating.

"Just our names," the woman replied. "My name is Kali and my husband's name is Deucalion… but everyone just calls him Duke."

"My father was a big fan of Greek mythology," Duke explained.

After dinner, Stiles drew upon the manners he'd been raised to possess. He offered to help with the dishes, but Kali insisted he just worry about settling in.

He didn't sleep the first few nights. Everything was just strange and out of place. He learned that Duke was a trial lawyer, but not much else about what he did. Kali taught theater in the high school he would be attending in the fall.

"Alright Stiles, what epic adventure are we having today?" Kali asked when Stiles trudged downstairs, a week into living with them.

He hadn't wanted to do anything so he shrugged. "Look, I know that all of this is scary and new. But it's not going to get any better if you stay cooped up in your room all the time."

Stiles nodded, seeing the logic in her argument. He poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat at the table.

"What if we went to Disneyland?" Kali asked. "Duke isn't working on Friday, we'd have all weekend long… what do you say?"

What twelve-year-old orphan was going to say no to Disneyland?

That weekend, they packed a few bags and headed to Anaheim. It was amazing. Stiles had a lot of fun and it was the first night he didn't wake up screaming.

As time passed, they fell into a comfortable schedule. Kali and Duke introduced him to their family and friends. He turned 13 years old. When fall came around, Kali enrolled him in school. He was having fun. He enjoyed the life he now had with them.

Then everything was turned upside down. Duke began tucking him into bed, which was odd because he didn't need it. He no longer even woke up screaming. Duke's hands would linger in places they shouldn't. At first, Stiles thought nothing of it.

Then the touching was no longer over the blanket… then it was no longer over the clothes. Stiles asked Duke not to, but Duke told him that it was normal, but if he said anything he'd end up homeless. The idea of being homeless scared Stiles.

He found his outlet in Kali's theater class. He had a talent and Kali was working hard on ensuring that he had the opportunity to shine like the star she saw him as. She truly saw him as her son and Stiles, in turn, viewed Kali as a strong maternal force in his life. He just couldn't bring himself to call her "mom" but Kali understood and she was fine with that.

For the Halloween play Stiles' freshman year, they did Dracula. Kali gave Stiles the lead role. He deserved it.

To celebrate, Duke took Stiles "camping."

They didn't go to the woods; instead, Duke checked them into a hotel for the night. "Are you a virgin, Stiles?"

"Yes," he answered timidly.

"Let me tell you… your first time is one you'll remember for the rest of your life. I'll never forget mine. I'm glad that I'll get to be yours," Duke replied.

"I don't want that," Stiles stammered.

"Nonsense. I know you'll change your mind after it happens. You'll realize how much you loved it," Duke said. He began to strip his clothes off and ordered Stiles to do the same. Tears fell from his eyes.

"Please… I really don't want to do this…."

"You trust me, don't you, Stiles?" Deucalion asked. Stiles nodded slowly. "Your first time should be with someone you trust. I'll bear that burden for you."

There was no kissing. There was no hugging or cuddling. There was pain. There were strange smells. There was Stiles crying into the pillow and Duke's repeated statement: "You like this, Stiles." After it was done, Stiles felt sore. He had a hard time walking, which Duke explained to a worried Kali was a result of a nasty fall he'd taken at the campsite. But as a testament to Kali's skill as a theater teacher and Stiles' skill as an actor, she never learned the truth. And Duke was right. Stiles never forgot his first time.

Duke became even more aggressive and frequent. "Please don't do this…" Stiles begged. "I'll tell!"

Duke shook his head, laughing. "No you won't. Because they won't believe you… and even if they did, both me and Kali would go down and you would end up homeless. And let's face it, I'm a well-known and well-respected lawyer. I'll be fine."

After Duke finished, he said the most harrowing words Stiles had ever heard. "I think I'm going to file a motion for Kali and I to adopt you. That way this won't ever have to end."

They ended up adopting him.

Again, Stiles' talent as actor was seen. He acted as though he was genuinely happy about his new family. When it came to Kali, he was. She loved him and he loved her. She had inspired him to study theater more in-depth and when college application time rolled around, he only submitted applications for theater programs and Kali drove him all around for his auditions. However, when it came to paying for his education at UC Irvine, he hit a snag. Duke made too much money, so he couldn't qualify for need-based aid. He managed to get some scholarships, but not enough to pay for both tuition and housing. Duke offered to foot the bill in exchange for regular sexual favors. Stiles, unfortunately , had no choice but to agree.

He finished that degree in only two years.

The moment he had his TA position locked in at Carnegie, he went off the grid. He never contacted them again. He missed Kali, but to communicate with her would bring Deucalion back into his life. He just couldn't do that.

* * *

"I'm sorry. I didn't know," Derek replied.

"Of course you didn't! Because I refuse to let my life be dictated by the fact that my foster father raped me. I refuse to let him be a guiding force in my life. Bad shit happens to everyone, Derek. You don't have the monopoly on young angst," Stiles said. "I'm going home." He pulled on his clothes and emptied out the drawer.

"Stiles please… I don't want to leave it like this," Derek said.

"I really just don't want to keep having this conversation," Stiles replied. "If this is going to be what our relationship is, I don't want it. I mean, you can't even tell me you love me."

"That's not true!" Derek shot back. He knew it was, though. "Stiles… I'm trying. I really am. I told you I'm not good at this."

"Parent Night is in a month," Stiles said. "If things aren't better by that, this is over. No more second chances."

He still went back to his apartment. In the course of a few hours, Derek and the drawer had come almost full circle. He stared at it as it hung open, completely void of Stiles' belongings. It became a _thing_. They argued. A beautiful night was ruined. Derek poured himself a glass of scotch and downed it, trying to drown the fires of self-hatred which were beginning to stir. He seemed incapable of letting himself be happy with Stiles. He poured more scotch and downed it. Only when he had several more glasses of it did he get so drunk that he went back to his room, pulled the drawer completely out of the dresser. Under the glow of the full moon and the influence of Chivas Regal, he took a hammer and demolished the drawer, burying the pieces in a small hole he dug in his back yard.

As he stood, bottle in hand, staring at the small mound of dirt, he realized the drawer was his life.

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed learning about Stiles' admittedly tragic past. Now if only we could get Derek to stop putting his foot in his mouth…. Please let me know what you thought! Also, sorry for how long it took to get this chapter out! I've been super swamped with work and school. I've had almost no time to write, and I feel like I'm letting my readers down. =/


	7. Chapter 7

"Dear God, look at yourself," Peter sneered as he let himself into Derek's room. "You're a Hale not a Hilton. Get up, get showered, and get dressed."

Derek didn't move, instead, he continued staring at the ceiling. "Why am I incapable of letting myself be happy?"

"Hales don't end up happy, they end up successful, which is like happiness, only other people recognize it," Peter replied. "Now get out of bed and stop wallowing in self-pity… and B.O."

"I'm serious, Uncle Peter," Derek insisted. "I have a chance at true love with someone who is truly amazing… and every time things start getting good, I do something to fuck it up. I love him. Why can't I show it?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "I don't know. You're emotionally unavailable, you have the humorous charm of a slaughter house, and the self-sabotaging nature of Captain Ahab. It's what makes you perfect to lead the Academy. No heart. All business."

Derek was horrified by the brutal assessment his uncle had given because it was true. He reluctantly obeyed his uncle's orders and trudged into the bathroom, getting the water running. While Derek was showering, Peter went downstairs and began brewing some coffee. He was joined after a few minutes. "What are you doing here?" Derek asked.

"I've not seen you for a while, so I wanted to come by and visit," Peter replied simply, downing more coffee.

Silence passed between them. "Do you really think I have no heart?"

"You're alive so obviously you have a heart, Derek," Peter said dismissively. "Don't be stupid."

Derek glared over his coffee mug. "You know what I mean, Uncle Peter…"

Peter sighed and set his mug on the hard oak table. "After Paige… then your parents and sister, you were different. But that's not a bad thing. You became more focused. I watched you walk across three different stages, earning three different degrees in less than four years. You made me proud and I think your parents would be proud, too. You're successful, Derek."

"But I'm not happy," Derek countered. "Except for when I'm with him."

"Who is this guy?" Peter asked, leaning forward.

"No judgment?"

"You're my nephew. I love you. Of course there's no judgment."

"His name is Stiles. He teaches theater at the Academy," Derek said, shrinking into his chair.

Peter's eyes widened. "Derek!"

"You said you wouldn't judge!"

"That was before I knew you were driving yourself insane over that insufferable hipster!"

"He's not a hipster. And he loves me… and I love him."

"He wants your money… he's an actor."

"He's my boyfriend," Derek retorted, suddenly feeling the need to come to Stiles' defense. "What is this newfound classism? You were fine with Paige and she wasn't from a wealthy family. Is this because I'm dating a guy?"

"Classism? No. I'm an elitist. There's a difference," Peter corrected. "And I don't care if you are dating a guy or a girl… just so long they're from money. Like us. But Paige…. That's a complicated story. I didn't approve of her, either. I was just too afraid to say something. At that age… when you're young and in love, forbidding something tends to make it all the more appealing. I was afraid that if I showed my disapproval, I'd push you even further into her arms."

"So when she died, you were relieved that I wouldn't end up marrying her?"

Peter stiffened, choosing his answer carefully. "Paige's death was a tragedy."

"Stop avoiding the question," Derek said, his voice insistent. "Were you relieved?"

Sighing, Peter averted his eyes. "There was a moment when, yes, I felt relief. But I've always been looking out for your best interests, Derek."

"Get out," Derek growled.

"Listen to me," Peter started.

"I told you to get out!" Derek pointed at the door.

"Fine," Peter snarled in response, moving to his feet. "But when you come to your senses, you know where to find me."

* * *

"Jesus Christ! I said I'm coming, hold on!" Stiles' annoyed voice rang out. When he opened the door, he saw Derek standing there, holding a box of pizza and a three-ring binder. Disappointment dripped from his voice. "Oh. It's you."

"I deserved that," Derek admitted. "But I have something that will hopefully make up for what happened."

"Unless there's a sense of decency in that pizza box, I'm not interested."

"Okay, I deserved that, too," Derek said. "But I happen to have in my hands Anthony Rapp's signed copy of the original script of _Rent_."

Stiles struggled to not explode. "As awesome as that is… I'm still mad at you."

"And there's a pizza with pepperonis arranged like Harry Potter's scar," Derek added.

"Fine," Stiles said, opening the door wide enough for Derek to pass through. "You've got ten minutes."

Derek set the stuff on the table before taking Stiles tightly in his arms, who melted into the embrace. _I love you_. He tried to say it over and over again, but it still wouldn't come out. _I love you like Mr. Darcy loves Elizabeth Bennet, like Eloise and Abelard, Napoleon and Josephine. None of the sonnets or poems or stories I've read and memorized can even begin to do justice to how I love you. _"It felt strange not sleeping next to you last night," Derek said, breaking several minutes of silence.

"I didn't like it either," Stiles admitted. "I'm just tired of how fucked up our relationship is, Derek. I meant what I said. If things aren't better by Parent Night, I'm calling this off."

Derek nodded. "I understand."

"So is that _really_ Anthony Rapp's signed script?" Stiles asked. Derek nodded. "How did you get it?"

"I'm a Hale," Derek replied cryptically. That answer seemed to satisfy Stiles because he squeezed Derek's torso tightly.

Derek sat at the table and Stiles fetched two paper plates. They dined in relative silence before Derek finally spoke. "Do you think I'm heartless?" he asked.

Stiles flashed a quizzical look, unsure what prompted this question. "I think you can be a real asshole sometimes... But 'heartless' is a bit harsh." Derek pursed his lips. "Why?"

"It doesn't matter," Derek replied.

"Bullshit," Stiles said, his eyebrows raised obstinately.

Derek tried to keep a straight face, but Stiles' stare broke him down. Finally he sighed and reclined in his chair, pushing his plate away from him. "I got a visit from my uncle. Something he said... It just hit me and I can't stop thinking about it."

"What sort of uncle calls his nephew 'heartless'?" Stiles asked, figuring that's what it was that had Derek so bothered.

Affixing a fake smile to his face, Derek finally looked at Stiles. "Mine, apparently."

"It was really shitty of him, Derek. You're not heartless. You're just a hard nut to crack," Stiles said, staring into Derek's eyes in a way that was so intense and honest that Derek had to look away.

"I really don't mean to be. I want to be more open... Especially for you. I'm scared that I'll keep doing these things and lose you, but I can't stop. But it's like I'm living proof of what he said: Hales don't end up happy. They end up successful."

"I don't see why those two things have to be mutually exclusive," Stiles pointed out. "You can be happy and successful."

"You're right."

* * *

The school was immaculate. Derek had been there now going on 24 hours. Stiles was worried that he was going to pass out from exhaustion, but Parent Night was an important night at Beacon Hills Academy. Parents were invited and encouraged to come and see what all of their hard-earned money was paying for. But more importantly for Derek, the entire Board of Governors was going to be there, and they were apparently going to be announcing the newest Chairman. "Has nobody here ever hung a banner?" Derek growled.

"Fine," Mr. McCall snapped after the fifth try, climbing down from the ladder. "You want this banner hung, you do it."

Derek climbed up, placing the pin exactly where he knew it needed to go. He then did a room-to-room inspection to make sure that all classrooms were neatly arranged. Stiles' room was filled with props from the play, so he gave a reluctant pass, despite the clutter. "When was the last time you slept?" Stiles asked, taking a moment to close his door and give them a bit of privacy.

"I can sleep when this night is over," Derek replied.

"Would you like to relieve a bit of tension before the event?" Stiles' eyebrows raised suggestively and his tongue danced across his perfect pink lips, lingering ever so slightly.

"Are you suggesting a quickie in your classroom?"

"We've done it in your office… might as well christen this room, too," Stiles replied with a nonchalance that would have troubled Derek if he hadn't been pressing himself against Stiles' slender body.

"Well… teacher's pet… when I was in school, we had a word for that. It wasn't particularly nice," Peter's dulcet voice broke their silence, startling them both. Derek instantly put several feet of distance between Stiles and himself.

"Uncle Peter… what are you doing here?" Derek asked, his voice trembling.

"It's parent night. Since I practically raised you… don't you think I should be here for this?" Peter replied. "But instead, I find you with your hands in the cookie jar. This is Stiles, I presume?"

The venom dripping from his voice was so thick Derek was nearly paralyzed from it. He and his Uncle hadn't left things on good terms. He knew his Uncle had vindictive tendencies and anyone who was stupid enough to cross him was made into an example. But since he held the Hale name, Derek wasn't as fearful for himself. It was Stiles that Derek worried more for.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Hale," Stiles said, his voice was even in a way that showed Derek that he was either a masterful actor befitting his role in the school, that he was brave, or that he was incredibly stupid, though Derek wasn't ready to rule out the possibility of there being a healthy combination of the latter two.

"Believe me," Peter replied, looking at Stiles as if he were lower than trash. "The pleasure is all yours."

"Please, Uncle Peter," Derek pleaded. "It isn't what it looks like."

"Don't lie to me, Derek," Peter replied. "It's exactly what it looks like. I wasn't born yesterday."

"Okay so it's what it looks like… but please… you have to understand," Derek implored.

"I understand perfectly," Peter's voice carried a false sweetness that chilled Derek to his marrow. "You're in love."

Peter slowly backed out of the classroom, leaving the two of them alone, though in considerably less of a frisky mood. "I need to go," Derek whispered, making his way to the door.

"Derek wait!" Stiles called, but Derek was already gone.

There was no way Derek could relax in the hour he had until the event started. People were already coming in and he was forced to act as though he wasn't petrified of the consequences of his interaction with his uncle.

When it was time to start, Derek approached the podium that had been set up in the gymnasium. He delivered a speech about how for more than a century, Beacon Hills Academy had turned out the best and the brightest and that he was proud to be able to continue its noble history. When he was done rambling, he introduced the former chairman of the Board of Governors who was going to announce the newest chairman.

As Derek took his seat and listened to the former chairman, though he only paid attention to the last sentence. "So it is with great pride that I leave my seat to a man whose family has been a part of this academy's success since its inception: my very good friend Mr. Peter Hale."

Derek's eyes widened and he shot a worried look at Stiles who was sitting in the audience. Peter couldn't hear his uncle's speech due to his heart thudding rapidly in his chest. This meant that his uncle now had the power to dismiss him and any other faculty member.

After the speeches were done, Peter turned around and flashed a sinister grin at Derek. During the catered reception, instead of bouncing busily from family to family, Derek decided to tend to his own familial issues and angrily pulled Peter out into the hallway. "Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded.

"You kicked me out of your house before I could." It amused Peter that Derek was so worried by this.

"Why?"

"There needs to be at least _one_ respectable Hale in a leadership role at this Academy," Peter replied.

His words stung, but Derek didn't back down. "I'm a perfectly respectable leader. I don't need you meddling in my business."

"Well now, your business _is_ my business. But I'm a fair man, Derek. I'll give you a little bit of time to clear up any loose ends… such as those vicious little rumors spreading about you and Dr. Stilinski," Peter said.

"What rumor?"

"Haven't you heard?" Peter's voice was playfully curious. "Someone spotted you two in a very compromising position in his classroom today." Before Derek could rear back his fist, which was ready to punch at any moment, Peter grinned again and walked away.

He didn't stay for the rest of Parent Night. He went out to his car and sat there, dumbfounded. Staring off into space, he could practically see any chances of a life with Stiles crumbling in front of him.

Before going home, he made the familiar drive to Stiles' apartment. He sat in his car, staring at the window where Stiles' bedroom would be. He even watched as Stiles pulled in, climbed the stairs, and then turned the lights on. He wasn't sure what to do.

Eventually, however, he brought the engine to life and drove home. He stared at his ceiling for a while before exhaustion finally overtook him.

* * *

_The din of chirping birds and children's laughter filled the air. Derek laughed as he watched his son climb the giant dome-shaped jungle gym. It was moments like these that Derek felt the most at peace. All he needed now was Stiles for it to be true perfection. He stared for a moment at the golden band on his finger before returning his gaze to their son._

"_Daddy! Daddy! Did you see what I just did?" Caleb asked excitedly._

_Derek hadn't, but he didn't want to disappoint his son. "I sure did, buddy!" he replied, slowly approaching. "Do it again! Maybe we can show Papa when he gets here!"_

_The little boy's bright blue eyes lit up. "Papa's coming?" he asked excitedly._

"_Of course Papa's coming!" Derek chuckled back. Apparently the trick that he'd accomplished was going from hanging upside-down on the top of the jungle gym to somersaulting and landing on his feet below. The second time he attempted it, Caleb didn't quite stick the landing and fell flat on his back. Immediately Derek's papa bear instincts kicked in. "Oh come here, sweetie!" called. Caleb ran to him and Derek wrapped his arms around his little boy, picking him up. "Are you hurt?"_

_Caleb nodded slowly into his chest. "Mhmm!"_

"_Tell me where it hurts. I'll kiss it and make it all better," Derek insisted._

"_My hand," Caleb replied softly. Derek carefully inspected his son's hands. One of them was a little scraped up. Derek brought it to his lips and then stared into his son's eyes. They seemed relieved._

"_Is that better?" Derek asked._

"_Yes," he whimpered._

_Glancing at his watch, Derek realized that Stiles would be arriving momentarily. "Why don't we see if we can find Papa?" he suggested. Caleb lit up. The two of them walked, hand-in-hand in search of the last member of the Stilinski-Hale household. Derek hated having to write all of that out when he signed his name, but it had been important to Stiles that they hyphenate._

"_I'm not a Hale," he said. "I'll _never _be a Hale. I'm a Stilinski through-and-through, and that's something you'll never be. So either we keep our own names or we hyphenate them."_

_They had walked to the edge of the park when Caleb finally caught sight of Stiles. "Papa!" he squealed, clapping his hands excitedly. Even from the distance, Derek could see how Stiles' mood completely changed upon seeing them._

_Not being one to jay-walk, Stiles waited for the crossing signal to change. As soon as he had the signal, he began to cross. A car speeding out of nowhere ran the red light. Derek quickly covered Caleb's eyes, but watched as the car slammed into Stiles. A sickening noise could be heard and Stiles tumbled over the car, landing on the asphalt, blood leaking from his mouth._

* * *

"STILES NO!" Derek screamed out. He sat straight up in bed, utterly drenched in sweat. He couldn't get his heart to stop racing as he fumbled for his phone, needing to hear Stiles' voice… something… anything to tell him that he was alright.

"Hello?" came the groggy voice at the other end.

Derek didn't speak. Tears simply streamed down his cheeks.

"Derek?" Stiles asked again, still sounding tired. "It's three in the morning. Is everything alright?" He thought he heard the sound of Derek crying, but he wasn't sure. He resigned himself to the idea that perhaps Derek dialed him by accident and hung up. Derek sat in the perspiration, shaking. It felt so real and without Stiles beside him, he panicked.

Still reeling from the experience, Derek managed to pull himself out of bed. He stripped the sheets and blankets, bringing them down to the washer and starting it. The steady hum helped to calm him as he then began heating some water and rifled through the cabinet for some chamomile tea. The scream of the boiling water startled him and he quickly turned off the heat, poured the water into the cup and began dunking the tea bags. The scent filled his nostrils, its effect was nearly instantaneous. As he brought the scorching liquid to his lips, he blew on it, trying to cool it down just a bit.

After adding a little bit of honey, he slowly sipped on the tea, trying to get the image of Stiles' death out of his head. When the little bell chimed, saying that his sheets and blanket were clean, Derek got up and moved them into the dryer. He then took his cup of tea to the living room where he turned on the TV and sat in his favorite chair, flipping through channels as he went from one infomercial to another. The people hocking useless junk seemed utterly feckless considering the few who might see it. Derek found himself somewhat nostalgic for Billy Mays.

The chamomile tea was doing its job. His eyelids were feeling heavy again. By his count the dryer would be almost done. He took another long sip, letting the hot liquid rest in his mouth before dancing down his throat, filling him with the warm, calm sensation.

The buzzer of the dryer alerted him that it was time to go back to sleep. He grabbed the silky sheets and the soft blanket and carried them upstairs, stretching them over the mattress. He stuffed his pillows into the pillow cases and neatly spread the blanket over the bed, making perfect hospital corners. When he was satisfied, he climbed back into bed for another hour or so of restless sleep before his alarm went off.

He showered in silence. He still felt uneasy from the nightmare, but as he soaped his body, rinsing away the suds, he felt somewhat out-of-sorts, but he had a school to run. He was just thankful that it was Friday and he could spend the weekend with Stiles.

As he let himself into his office, he found someone was already in his seat, facing the windows behind the desk. "Stiles?" Derek asked.

"Not exactly," Peter replied, spinning around.

"Get out of my office," Derek ordered.

"Is that any way to talk to your uncle?" Peter asked. "Much less your new boss…"

"Please, Uncle Peter… why are you doing this?" Derek asked. "I love him."

"Does he know that?" Peter asked. "I mean… have you told him?"

"No…"

"If you haven't told him, then perhaps you don't love him as much as you think you do," Peter offered. "I'm doing this for you, Derek. You'll appreciate it one day. But I _am_ serious. Something needs to be done about the theater teacher. Today. I'm giving you the opportunity to do it, or I will. And believe you know me well enough to know that you don't want me to do it."

Derek rolled his eyes and walked out, heading to the staff lounge for more coffee. As he walked in, he knew immediately that they had been talking about him. One teacher snickered, but Derek didn't see who. He filled his coffee cup and walked out as Stiles rounded the corner, dressed in his usual unprofessional attire. McCall walked by. Upon seeing the two of them together, he let out a wolf whistle and winked suggestively. Derek glared. "Just ignore him," Stiles whispered.

"No," Derek replied. He had to do it now. He had to say something. It would show the other teachers that he meant business and it might dispel the rumors. His face was hard. It was good to see Stiles alive and well, which made what was coming out of his mouth that much more difficult. "I want you to go home and come back dressed like you don't eat out of a dumpster. If you come to work like this again, you're fired."

"Derek… what's wrong?" Stiles asked.

"It's Dr. Hale," Derek corrected. He tried to show in his eyes that there was another reason for this. He was begging for Stiles to see it. He could tell that Stiles was defiantly holding back tears.

"Fine," Stiles said. To Derek, it sounded a bit more like 'fuck you.'

Derek followed him outside and out of earshot. "Stiles…"

"It's Dr. Stilinski," Stiles replied.

"Please… there's a reason…" Derek insisted.

"I'm not interested. You let me in… you put up a wall. I told you I was done. I meant it," Stiles replied. "Now I'm going to go home, change, and I'll be back before first period. This rollercoaster ride has been a complete blast. I hope you live a long, lonely life… just like you want."

"I mean it… Let me explain," Derek tried again.

"Go fuck yourself, Dr. Hale," Stiles said before climbing into his Jeep and driving away.

Derek struggled to maintain composure as he made his way to his office. Peter smiled at him. "Bravo, Derek. I'm proud of you."

"Stop," Derek choked out. "Just stop. I just let go of the first person I've loved since Paige. I don't need you gloating."

"Oh Derek," Peter whispered, pulling his nephew into an awkward hug. "I told you before… Hales don't end up happy." Derek cried into his uncle's shoulder, unaware of the sinister smile parting his relative's lips. Everything was falling apart for Derek. It was all falling into place for Peter.

* * *

**A/N**: Let me know what you think? I'm sorry about how long it took. I've had some wicked midterms to study for.


	8. Chapter 8

Pain. Loss. Hopelessness. Derek felt all of this and more every second of every day. In many ways, this hurt more than losing Paige. At least he didn't have to see her walking around his school every day. He had begun drinking quite a bit more. Every night as the Chivas Regal coursed through his system, lowering his inhibitions, he'd scrawl out excerpts from literary masterpieces onto sheets of lined paper before folding them carefully and stuffing them into an envelope which he'd then place in Stiles' box each morning before school.

The first one:

_You are my heart, my life, my one and only thought._ – _Sir Arthur Conan Doyle_

Another one said:

_I love your feet because they have wandered over the earth and through the wind and water until they brought you to me. – Pablo Neruda_

Hoping to appeal to Stiles' more nerdy leanings, he took a quote from The Fellowship of the Ring:

_I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of the world alone._ –_ J.R.R. Tolkien_

In an attempt to appeal to Stiles' romantic side, he brought out a little Wuthering Heights:

_Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same_. –_ Emily Brontë._

And to show Stiles that he finished the entire Harry Potter series, he used a passage that made him cry.

_Dumbledore watched it fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears._

"_After all this time?"_

"_Always," said Snape. – J.K. Rowling_.

There were many others, but none of them were ever read by their intended recipient. Each morning, Derek felt the agony of watching Stiles pick up the envelope, rip it in half and throw it in the paper recycling box near the secretary's desk. This went on for weeks until Derek gave up, deciding to write one last one, this time he was sober.

On the envelope, he wrote the words "Please read this one."

_Stiles,_

_I know I fucked up. But I really want to explain. My uncle was threatening to fire you if I didn't do something to quell the rumors he started. What I did was awful, but I did it for you. If you're fired from this school, it'll be hard to find another job and I wanted to make sure you didn't have to go through that. I could have gone about it another way. I realize that._

_And even if this is the last interaction we have, I want you to know something: I love you. I've loved you for a while now. I was attracted to you from the moment you first walked into my door. My entire time in universities, I read about love at first sight and I didn't know what it meant or even believe in it until I found you. And like so many literary characters, I screwed it up and I don't get a happy ending. I know I don't deserve you, but it would make life without you easier to bear if you simply knew that I love you. Not "loved"… love. You deserve happiness and someone who can show it easily. Maybe that wasn't me._

_I'm not asking for your forgiveness. I'm just asking that you realize that I love you._

_-Derek_.

That one wasn't read either. As Derek watched the two halves float into the recycling bin, it was as if something within him tore as well. He was already having trouble sleeping, but it became worse. He couldn't concentrate. He saw Stiles everywhere.

Ever a glutton for punishment, Derek made the mistake of wandering into the space that gave him a view of Stiles' classroom. They were practicing a song that seemed to be wrought with emotion. Derek didn't know the context, though.

Stiles was working with the same student who had sung "I Dreamed a Dream" before. He stopped her and stood on stage with her, starting the music. Derek had never heard him sing before. He was struck by how beautiful his voice was, even if what it was singing sounded a bit harsh. However, as it reached a certain point, Derek saw Stiles angrily staring straight at him.

"_He was the same way he was always run away, hit the road, don't commit, you're full of shit!_ _He's in denial… didn't give an inch when I gave a mile! … I'd be happy to die for a taste of what Angel had: Someone to live for, unafraid to say 'I love you!'"_

Derek shook his head and walked away. Upon returning to his office, he found Peter already there. "Wow… you look even less fun than normal. Who kicked your puppy?" his uncle asked.

Derek gave a roll of his eyes and sat down in his chair. "I don't think I can keep doing this," Derek admitted. "It hurts too much."

"Oh my God, change the record!" Peter complained. "He's just a guy. You'll get over him. Maybe you should just take some vacation time… go somewhere and really let loose. Fuck some new people… loosen up."

He felt as if his uncle didn't even know him. "And what part of that sounds like something I would do?"

"It's not. You're a tight-ass. I was just putting out suggestions," Peter replied. "But you should do something to help yourself get over him."

"But I don't _want_ to get over him," Derek stated. "I really just want to be _with_ him."

"No, you want the feeling you get from being with him," Peter corrected. "I really thought you were smarter than this."

Derek didn't appreciate his uncle's patronizing tone. "Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot. Of the two of us, I'm the one with a Doctorate."

"There are many different kinds of intelligence, Derek."

"Why do I feel like you're up to something?" Derek asked.

"It might be those legendary trust issues your beloved complained about…" Those words ripped through Derek's chest like a knife. There was so much physical pain that accompanied them that Derek nearly cried. Peter noticed the change. "Too soon?"

"Just go," Derek ordered.

"I didn't mean anything by it," Peter said.

"Yes you did. You're getting some kind of satisfaction from this. Don't deny it," Derek added. "I honestly wish for once in my life you could just be my uncle instead of scheming about one thing or another."

"Scheming?" Peter chuckled as he made his way to the door. "I'm not scheming. I'm genuinely trying to help. The best thing for you is to move on. I think you should take a week and go do something fun. I'll run the school in your absence."

"Absolutely not," Derek countered.

"Why?"

"I don't trust you."

"That hurts!" Peter placed his hand over his heart. "All I've ever done is try give you the best advice and opportunities I can. Certainly my methods have been a little unorthodox, but they've gotten you this far. At least take a few days off… do whatever you literary types do…"

"Like Sylvia Plath?"

"Well… that's not what I meant, but if that's what you wish to do, I'll respect your decision," Peter replied.

"The correct answer was 'No.' Now please get out of my office," Derek said dryly.

* * *

Stiles felt he had earned his Oscar. Only Derek seemed to know just how upset he truly was over the split and that was only because he made a concerted effort to tear up every note or letter or whatever it was concealed within those envelopes.

Every single day, he dressed in a suit and tie. He was miserable. He wasn't going to renew his teaching contract at the end of the year. He wanted to find something as far away as he could. He had fond memories of Pittsburg from when he was at Carnegie Mellon. He also heard that New Haven and Hartford were both amazing cities to live in. They had the added bonus of being all the way across the country from Derek.

His life had developed a sad routine that it never before possessed. In the mornings, he'd wake up and shower before deciding on which soul-crushing outfit he'd force himself into, all the while dreading the long car ride that would inevitably lead to him seeing the one face in the worl ould rather go the rest of his life without ever seeing again.

And then there was the matter of Derek spying on his classes. When they were playing cat-and-mouse and flirting back and forth, it was cute. But now, Stiles found it to be oppressive and a constant reminder that there was nothing he could do that would allow him to escape Derek's influence so long as he worked at this school. Part of him wanted to just get the class through the play and quit immediately after, but his students deserved to finish the year with him, so he resigned to stay.

Since Derek never went into the staff lounge, Stiles thought that it would be a safe place for him to spend his lunch break without risking Derek's prying eyes. "Really?" he muttered as he saw Derek in there, though upon taking a closer look, Stiles recognized something. It was that look of paralyzing fear that accompanied a panic attack. "Derek!" Stiles called. "Calm down…" But he knew how pointless it was to tell someone in the midst of a panic attack to 'calm down.' It was impossible to be calm in the face of the overwhelming and completely suffocating terror that accompanied them. There was that desire to crawl out of one's own skin in an attempt to escape to somewhere safe.

He quickly pressed his lips to Derek's in an attempt to make the oxytocin burst that could come from a kiss interrupt the chemical cycle. They stood there, locked together. Stiles could feel Derek's pulse slowing down along with his breathing rate. Derek's arms snaked around his waist and Stiles could feel Derek's tongue trying to enter his mouth. "Stiles…" he breathed, relief permeating through his voice.

Stiles pushed Derek away, glaring at him angrily. "Oh no…" he said. "Don't flatter yourself! That was just to stop the panic attack. You don't get to kiss me again. Not ever. You're still a fucking asshole."

"Thank you for stopping the panic attack," Derek managed. The pain of Stiles' words seemed to be threatening yet another. Derek felt completely fatigued. It was as if the panic attack sapped every last ounce of his energy. "And… I'm sorry, Stiles. I only did it to help you."

"Help me?" Stiles sneered. "How is it helping me that I can't sleep at night? That I'm completely miserable and that I can't even seek solace in the one thing that has always brought me joy: teaching. How did it help me that you humiliated me in front of my colleagues after I stood up for you to them? No. I told you, Derek. I'm done. No more excuses. No more second chances."

"Stiles, I…" Derek started, wanting to complete that sentence that he'd written what seemed like hundreds of times in his little notes.

"You what?" Stiles asked. "If you were going to say that you're sorry, well, you've said that enough, I think, for one relationship. Just… go home and wind down from the panic attack and leave me alone."

"I had a dream about us," Derek started. "The night I called and didn't say anything."

"I have dreams about us all the time," Stiles replied. "It doesn't change anything."

"We were married. We had a kid. I watched you die just like Paige died," Derek continued. "That was the closest I've come to a panic attack before today. I called because I just wanted to hear your voice and know that you were alright. I still want to just hear your voice and know you're alright."

"Well I'm not, Derek," Stiles said. "Is that what you want to know? That despite this peachy-keen façade, I'm not alright. I thought we would have something and we didn't."

"We still could," Derek said urgently, closing the distance between them.

Stiles simply opened the distance back up. "No we can't. Go home, Derek."

Derek didn't go home. Instead, he went back to his office and accomplished nothing. He had disciplinary hearings he should have scheduled, paperwork that should have been filed, and there were a few teachers whose reviews he should have prepared for. Instead, he sat behind his desk reflecting on just how badly he fucked everything up.

An hour after the last bell rang, Derek made his way to his car. He was surprised to find that the normally clear road was backed up. The traffic was stop and go, which gave Derek more time to think about what a failure he was becoming. "Jesus Christ… why is this taking forever?" he asked, not wanting to be trapped alone with his own thoughts for too long.

Soon, he was able to see the flashing lights ahead of him. After moving a little further, he could see a vehicle flipped over on the side of the road. A few more moments and he realized he knew that vehicle. That was Stiles' jeep. He pulled off the road, not even bothering to turn off his car as he ran toward the stretcher being loaded into the back of the ambulance.

"What happened?" Derek demanded as soon as he was in earshot of the paramedics. "Is he alright?"

A police officer ran at Derek, holding him back from the scene. "Sir, I need you to calm down."

"Is he alright?" Derek asked again. He couldn't see any movement on the stretcher.

"Are you his next of kin?"

"No. Just tell me if he's alright! Please!"

"We're taking him to Beacon Hills Memorial. That's all we can say now," the officer replied.

"Can I go with him?" Derek asked.

"I'm sorry, but only next of kin can ride in the ambulance with him. You're welcome to follow him, but you'll still have to wait in the emergency waiting room until he's stable."

He felt helpless as he watched the doors of the ambulance close. He ran back to his car, driving along the side of the road, passing all the vehicles that had been waiting so that he could stay behind the ambulance.

"You better be alright, Stiles," Derek muttered as the song 'Time to Say Goodbye' began playing from his MP3 player. Derek snatched the tiny device, unplugging it and tossing it out the window. "Go fuck yourself, Andrea Bocelli."

His mind kept playing visuals of every horrible way this could end. It was tormenting him. Despite his desperate hope for the contrary, all he could think about was Stiles dying. After running several red lights, he sped into a parking spot and ran into the hospital.

"Where is he?" Derek asked the front desk clerk. "Stiles… where is he?"

"I'm sorry? Who?" the clerk asked.

"His last name is Stilinski. He came here by ambulance," Derek explained.

"And are you related to him?" she asked.

"I'm his fiancé," Derek lied.

"Follow me."

Derek hated hospitals. They were depressing. As he passed beds with people suffering from illnesses and injuries he couldn't see, Derek just wanted to be by Stiles' side. They rounded a corner and continued down a hall before arriving at the room. Derek thanked the clerk and let himself in, slipping past the privacy curtain.

His head was wrapped in bandages and his arm was set in a cast. There were cuts and scrapes dotting his perfect face, but he was alive and that was all that mattered. "Stiles! I'm so glad you're alright!"

"Get out," he said, his voice weak. "I don't even know how you got back here."

"I sort of told them I was your fiancé," Derek explained. "But please… let me explain."

"That's rich coming from you. I'll call the nurse, Derek," Stiles threatened. "I swear I will."

Derek saw his hand move toward the button. He quickly grabbed it, moving it out of reach. "Please… just listen to me."

"I don't want to hear anything you have to say. Get out or I'll call for security," Stiles said.

Derek wasn't deterred. "Okay. Let's make a deal. Just like the one we had before. If you'll let me just say this one thing… then if you still want me to leave, I will."

"If that's the only way to get you out of here, then fine."

"My uncle started a rumor about us to try and get me to do something about you. He wasn't happy that I was getting close to you because you're not from money like I am. But I don't care, Stiles," Derek started. "I acted like a jackass, but it was so that he wouldn't fire you. I tried to explain, but you wouldn't let me."

"What's your point?"

"My point is…" Derek said, trying to force those three words out. He needed to say them. It was now or never. "I… I love you."

"Great!" Stiles replied. "The dramatic hospital bedside revelation. Cue the sappy music and zoom in on our faces... maybe even have an audience group 'aww!' for added effect. I'm sorry, Derek… three words doesn't undo months of this same pattern. I see how this plays out: you say 'I love you', I forgive you and we get back together, then in a couple of weeks, something happens and you push me away, but beg me not to be angry about it because you had some good reason for it and your angst is justified."

Derek was hurt by this. It was definitely not the way he imagined this going. "I'm sorry, Stiles."

"We had a deal. I want you to leave now," Stiles replied.

"Is there something I can do to make this right?" Derek pleaded, not wanting this to be the end.

"Yeah," Stiles said slowly. Derek perked up. "For once be a man of your word and get the hell out."

Fighting the tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes, Derek turned around, leaving Stiles alone with the steady beep of the machine monitoring his pulse.

Feeling completely alone, Derek dialed, regrettably, the only person he had: his uncle. "Can you meet me at my place?" he asked, feeling vulnerable.

"Sure," came the response.

A little while later, Derek was gulping down scotch and completely drunk. Peter let himself in, finding Derek in this state. "You weren't even this surly when you were a teenager, Derek."

"He doesn't want anything to do with me," Derek hiccupped.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Get up," he ordered.

Derek struggled to his feet, unsteadily swaying. "We're going out. You need to realize that there are plenty of other people out there."

"I don't want to," Derek said. "I want him."

"He's nothing!" Peter shouted. "He's an insect. You are so much better than him."

"I'm not going anywhere…"

"Fine," Peter growled, tapping his phone feverishly. "Then they'll come here."

"Who?"

"Your freedom," Peter replied.

It was an hour later when the door rang. Derek was still somewhat drunk, though considerably less so since Peter had hidden the remaining Chivas. He watched as his uncle opened the door, greeting a beautiful short brunette woman and a tall handsome thin man who bore a striking resemblance to Stiles. Peter pulled some money out of his pocket and handed it to the man before whispering something into his ear, then jerking his head in Derek's direction. The man approached Derek, grabbing his hand and gently tugging it, pulling him toward the stairs. Derek begrudgingly followed the man to his room, leaving Peter alone with the woman.

"What's your name?" Derek asked.

"I was told not to tell you," he replied. "Just relax. This will be fun." He began unbuttoning Derek's shirt, revealing the hairy, muscular torso and licking his lips.

Derek covered himself back up. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to show you a good time…" He sunk to his knees, pulling Derek's pants down, kissing the concealed member through the boxers.

"No," Derek protested, pushing the man away. "You're not Stiles."

The man stood up, putting his lips close to Derek's ear and whispered, "I can be anyone you want me to be. Tonight, I'm all yours…"

His heart was thudding rapidly in his chest as the man sunk back down, pulling the boxers away, leaving Derek nude and feeling completely vulnerable. When he felt soft fingers gently caressing his shaft, he stepped backwards, falling on the bed. "I can't do this."

"Don't you find me attractive?" the prostitute asked.

Derek nodded. "You just look like someone…"

"Then close your eyes… I'll just help you to relax."

"I'll pay you double whatever my uncle gave you to just leave," Derek said.

The prostitute sighed. "This is a first for me…"

"I'm sorry for taking up your time…"

Derek picked up his pants and pulled more money out of his wallet, thrusting it at the prostitute. "Do you need a ride anywhere?"

He shook his head. "Have a great night, I guess…"

"You too," Derek replied, crawling into bed. He could smell the prostitute's cologne on his skin, but he was too tired to do anything else. He cried himself to sleep.

* * *

**A/N: **Happy Halloween! I hope you enjoy the chapter. Tell me what you thought. It'll get happy... eventually... I promise!


	9. Chapter 9

Peter Hale had been called many things in his life, but each time it was preceded by the word "textbook". "Textbook narcissist" and "textbook sociopath" were his two favorite. But Peter would argue that while he _was_ a narcissist and he _was_ a sociopath, there was nothing textbook about him. What many saw as character flaws and personality disorders, he viewed as basic survival instinct that the rest of humanity seemed to have forgotten somewhere along their evolutionary journey.

In Peter's mind, when the first ancestors of humanity descended from the safety of the trees, they brought with them a survival instinct that would allow for the species to get to the pinnacle of life. It had dissipated over the millennia but Peter fancied himself a well-bred and well-to-do survivalist and was determined to capitalize on those instincts. If a few people had to be sacrificed for the betterment of the Hale line, well, that was simply too bad for them and it wasn't his problem.

Things got messy, however, when fellow Hales got in the way of the betterment of the Hale line. His sister and brother-in-law had been guilty of it and they were dealt with. But as Peter looked at his nephew, pining over the hipster theater teacher who threatened everything he'd been working years to set in motion, he saw Stiles as the next obstacle to be removed. Yet he was intelligent and knew that he needed to do it carefully. His hand could not be seen in it. He barely escaped scrutiny when he killed Derek's parents and siblings.

He had hoped to be able to groom Derek into the survivalist heir to the Hale line, but he was unable to thwart his sister's influence, though he managed to convince her to give her children the Hale name rather than the unbecoming name their father had. Hales had power. They had prestige. They were respected and had been for as long as there had been Hales, yet the burden fell on Peter to ensure that the family name remained strong and that weak members of the herd were taken out. He missed Talia, but as she got older, she got weaker. She was no longer good for the line, and since she was the one who'd had kids, the entirety of the Hale fortune was going to be split up amongst them.

Peter chose the only thing he could see as a rational option: bottleneck the fortune, especially since his own trust fund was growing smaller and smaller, and he lost so much when the markets fell. Certainly he could have just killed everyone else and allowed the fortune to go to the most deserving person, but that was too suspicious. He kept Derek alive and helped guide him, but if Derek got married and had any children, then all of the work he'd put into protecting Derek, finding him a job in the Academy, working to become the Chairman of the Board to ensure that he stayed in close proximity to Derek and the fortune would have been for nothing.

Stiles was simply a thorn in his side that needed to be removed one way or another. The crash was supposed to kill him, but it didn't. The former headmaster had been much easier to dispose of. His lack of a proper diet made a large dose of potassium look just like a heart attack. It was back to the drawing board for the theater teacher, though. Peter chuckled at the idea of haunting the upcoming production of _RENT_ like the Phantom of the Opera. He could simultaneously get rid of Stiles _and_ scar an entire class of students for life. It was a win-win situation if he'd ever seen one before. However, Peter was more likely to choose a more subtle way to dispose of the object of his nephew's desire.

Peter stepped out onto the balcony of his bedroom, a luxurious robe wrapped loosely around his body. He stared up at the cloudy night sky, purple with the reflections of the distant lights. There were still flaws with this plan that he needed to work out, such as finding Derek someone over whom he could exert influence, but was of high enough birth who could help carry on the Hale name and ensure the survival of the line. It was in this moment that Peter, a member of the original American Aristocracy, who could trace his lineage back at least six centuries, even back before the colonization of the New World.

The school was the best way for his family's legacy to remain in-tact. Now that he was the chairman of the board of Governors, he wanted to bring up the idea of naming the school the "Hale Academy." Yet now, it seemed as though he were playing a game of chess. The pieces were all in place, but that little pawn, his nephew, was ruining everything. His past told him he had no problem sacrificing a pawn for the greater good, unfortunately, he needed this pawn. He refused to have any brats of his own. It was beneath him.

Heaving a sigh, he walked back into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He fell on the bed, which still smelled like the prostitute's cheap perfume. He made her leave when he was done with her, preferring to sleep alone.

The next morning, he woke before Derek did and decided to prepare breakfast. As the smells of frying bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee mingled and permeated through the house, Derek was roused from the depths of another dream in which he and Stiles were a bit older and had a child, though in this dream, the boy Caleb was a girl named Elizabeth. "Why are you still here?" he asked his uncle.

"Is that any way to greet the uncle who got up and made you breakfast? It _is_ the most important meal of the day," Peter replied, avoiding the question altogether.

"Guess not," Derek shrugged, sitting down and helping himself to several strips of bacon and some eggs.

"So how was your night with what's-his-name?"

"It didn't happen," Derek said between bites.

"After all that money I paid?" Peter did little to mask his annoyance at this revelation.

"I told you… I want Stiles, not some prostitute," Derek said stiffly.

"I'm fairly certain you mentioned nothing of the prostitute," Peter pointed out.

"It was heavily implied."

"You need to think about your future, Derek!"

"My future is with a prostitute?" Derek was unconvinced.

"Of course not! You're a Hale!"

"So why can't my future be with Stiles?"

"For one, he doesn't want you anymore. For two, how can you carry on the Hale name with him?" Peter reasoned.

"We'll adopt…"

Peter snickered. "Yeah… the future of the Hale line falling on the shoulders of some bargain-bin second-hand rejected child… Are you insane?"

"Considering the fact that I'm an orphan… that's a bit harsh, you know…" Derek shot back.

"Just let me help find you a wife!" Peter insisted, ignoring the chastisement. "You _are_ still into women, right?" Derek's eyes narrowed. Peter didn't relent. "What? You need an heir."

"If you're so concerned about the next generation of Hales, why don't you contribute to it?" Derek asked.

"Me? A father?" Peter laughed. Derek had to admit, a child was better off as an orphan than with Peter as its father.

"While you make a good point, the point remains… either you do something to contribute, or get the hell out of my business," Derek asserted.

"Can't you see? I _am_ contributing. I'm trying to ensure that you're able to do what needs to be done for our family," Peter said.

Derek rolled his eyes. "You annoy me more and more every time I see you."

"Perhaps if I annoy you enough, you'll finally move on from that low-bred asshole," Peter argued.

"Can we just stop talking about this? I'd like to have just one conversation with my only living relative that doesn't make me want to punch your teeth out," Derek said darkly.

Peter understood when he should stop, so he cleared his throat. "Point taken."

* * *

Despite his uncle's pressure, Stiles was still the only thing Derek could think of. He decided to see how his recovery was doing. He'd been released from the hospital, so that meant he'd likely be home. Derek could feel the butterflies in his stomach as he approached the door. Three knocks in rapid succession lead to Stiles opening the door. Upon seeing who his visitor was, he moved to shut it in Derek's face. Quickly, Derek placed his foot in the small space, preventing it from closing entirely. "Get the hell out, Derek. I'll call the cops."

"Stiles, please," Derek begged. "Just give me five minutes…" Stiles was still sporting cuts and bruises on his face and there was still a bandage on his head.

"I think I've given you enough time," Stiles replied, pushing on the door again.

"Stiles, I love you. Give me a chance to prove that to you one last time. I'll do anything," desperation tainted Derek's normally strong voice.

"You won't even stand up to your uncle!" Stiles argued. "And you expect me to believe you?"

"He's the only family I have…" Derek countered.

"Boo-hoo!" Stiles replied. "I don't have _any_ family."

Derek was determined not to give up. "I'll do anything."

"Fine," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. He opened the door, allowing Derek entrance. "This doesn't mean that I forgive you for all the shit you've done. It also doesn't mean that I'll want to get back with you."

Derek nodded, understanding that he _had_ put Stiles through hell.

"Epic missions are a common theme in literature, right?" Stiles asked.

"Yeah," Derek replied. "The Odyssey, Iliad, Epic of Gilgamesh, Twelve Labors of Hercules, Beowulf…"

"I didn't ask for an English lesson," Stiles snapped, wanting to ensure that Derek understood that he wasn't in charge in this setting. "I'll give you three tasks. You can't use your title as a Hale to help you… and no outsourcing the task. If you do, that's it… no second chance. And if you fail, then you have to promise to stop coming by my house… coming by my classroom… basically you agree to cease all interaction with me whatsoever because it's not fair to me that you keep trying to insert yourself into my life."

Again, Derek nodded, nervously wondering exactly what tasks that rattled, beautiful head could come up with. "What's my first task?"

"I want you to admit your love over the school intercom," Stiles said, a coy smile parting his lips.

"I can't do that…" Derek said softly. "You know I can't…"

Stiles shrugged. "Well then… this has been a blast! But I'm going to finish my weekend. Have a good life, Derek."

Down-trodden, Derek showed himself out. Stiles mustn't have wanted any of this because if he did, he wouldn't have picked a task he knew Derek couldn't do.

He didn't get much sleep the rest of the weekend. He kept pouring over how he could possibly manage to accomplish his task.

So when Monday morning came around, the idea struck him. Stiles never specified _when_ the announcement had to be made. After Stiles came to check his mail box, Derek waited for him to get a good distance around the hallway before picking up the microphone.

"_You'll love me yet!-and I can tarry_

_Your love's protracted growing:_

_June reared that bunch of flowers you carry_

_From seeds of April's sowing._

_I plant a heartful now: some seed_

_At least is sure to strike_

_And yield-what you'll not pluck indeed,_

_Not love, but, may be like!_

_You'll look at least on love's remains_

_A grave's one violet:_

_Your look?-that pays a thousand pains._

_What's death?-You'll love me yet!_

_A poem by Robert Browning."_

It took mere moments for Stiles to appear in his office. "Really?"

Derek smirked. "Really."

"You chose a poem about unrequited love…"

"Seemed appropriate to me," Derek reasoned.

"Alright," Stiles relented. "You won this one…"

"What's my next task?" Derek asked.

Stiles thought for a moment and replied, "The actual prop Grimmerie from Broadway's _Wicked_."

Derek's jaw dropped. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Nope. That's the next task," Stiles said. "Good luck."

* * *

The task required Derek to visit New York, since the play was held in the Gershwin Theatre. He didn't, however, feel comfortable leaving the power vacuum to be filled by his uncle, so he invited Peter along, framing it as a trip to try and get over Stiles. Of course, Peter was more than willing to comply.

As they sat in First Class, Peter was dividing his time between texting a friend of his in New York City. The stewardess politely approached. "What can I get for you gentlemen to drink?"

"Two scotches on the rocks," Peter replied.

"Right away," she said, smiling back at them.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn't want to spend this entire flight completely sloshed?" Derek asked.

"Leave it to you to make vacation boring," Peter replied.

"Who are you texting?"

"A friend of mine I want you to meet," said Peter. "She's an English Professor at Columbia. I think you'll like her."

Derek scowled. "I didn't invite you on this trip so that you could try to hook me up for your strange dream of Hale purity."

"No, you wanted to ensure I wouldn't have any time alone with Stiles," Peter said.

Derek stiffened. "I don't trust you, what can I say?"

Peter shrugged. "A healthy amount of suspicion can be good for survival." Derek agreed, but he also knew that there was nothing healthy about the amount of suspicion he held toward his only relative.

The stewardess returned with the drinks. Both Hale men graciously accepted them. Soon, she was making the typical pre-flight announcements. They passed most of the flight in silence.

When they landed several hours later, Derek was excited to be able to stretch his legs. They chose to store their luggage in the over-head containers so they didn't have to wait at the checked baggage line. "We need to check into our hotel," Derek told his uncle.

"I've done this before, you know," Peter reminded him, somewhat annoyed.

"Lose the tone," Derek warned. "You would be home relaxing if I could trust you not to fuck things up between me and Stiles while I'm here."

Peter's eyes narrowed, but he let that comment go. The two of them hailed a cab.

After checking into the hotel, Peter complained, "I'm hungry."

"You're a big boy… find some food."

Peter sighed. "If I'd have known this was how it was going to be, I wouldn't have come at all."

"Fine," Derek replied, his voice was measured, but deadly. "What can I do to get you off of my case?"

"Just meet her."

"That's it? Then you'll leave me the hell alone?"

"I promise."

"Text her. Tell her to meet us at dinner."

Peter turned away, pulling out his phone. An indelible smirk crossed his face. He turned back to his nephew. "She's meeting us at Sparks Steak House. Get ready."

The cab ride was silent. Derek pulled some cash out of his pocket and handed it to the driver. "Thanks," he said. "Keep whatever's left."

Peter had already gone inside, so Derek took a few deep breaths and ventured in. Peter was in the midst of an animated conversation with a beautiful woman with long, wavy brown hair. Her smile seemed to go on for days. "Dr. Derek Hale! It's an honor to meet you!"

"Please," Derek replied… "Just call me Derek. And why is it an honor?"

"I'm sorry… Look at me… I'm completely star-struck!" she giggled her infectious laugh, causing Derek to actually respond in-kind. "I'm using your doctoral thesis as a textbook for the class I'm teaching on comparative themes in literature. It's so great to actually be able to meet the person who wrote such an exhaustive and interesting text!"

"Remember, I told you she's a professor at Columbia… she must be the reason behind all of those royalties payments that just came in," Peter said.

"Well, I thank you and so does my publisher, I'm sure!" Derek mused.

"Would you be willing to do a lecture for my class?" she asked.

"Of course… I'm only in the city for a short amount of time," Derek said. "What's your name?"

"Oh, where are my manners?" Peter interjected. "Derek, meet my friend Dr. Jennifer Blake."

* * *

**Author's Note**: So just so everyone knows, the word "Grimmerie" will be better explained in the next chapter. Also, the semester is coming to a head, hence the almost half a month between chapters. Luckily, in less than a month, my semester is over and then I'll be updating all of my stories! Please give me some feedback! It always helps fuel my muse.


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